The Interred
by GinnyRules
Summary: When Hermione and Draco are trapped together in the boundless labyrinth of the Department of Mysteries, they must work together to stay alive. Because something with sharp eyes is tracking them, and it is out for blood... / "We're not in this together, Granger. You should really save yourself some time and get that through your head right now."
1. The Slanting Doorway

**THE INTERRED**

_By GR_

* * *

**I - The Slanting Doorway**

A_ scream cut short. A flurry of footfalls against a crumbling stone floor._

"_Draco—don't!"_

_A flash of red. And her heart was rent in two._

* * *

For a long time after the battle Hermione Granger felt that she was observing her own life through a spyglass. She watched from afar as her body trudged through rows of gravestones and accepted medals of bravery and read a lifetime's worth of books on rebuilding from the ruins of loss. The visions were distorted and out of focus and she scrambled with all her might to find sharpness where there were only blurred edges.

Many weeks passed with only the teetering stack of _Daily Prophets_ accumulating on her desk at Grimmauld Place—a cold comfort of a temporary home—to mark off the days. Harry's name headed nearly every one, occasionally accompanied by hers and Ron's, though she could not bring herself to do more than glance at them before a tightness formed in her chest for all the people's whose names _should_ have been mentioned: Fred, Lupin, Tonks, Dobby, so many more...

_HARRY POTTER, RONALD WEASLEY, HERMIONE GRANGER, NEVILLE LONGBOTTOM AWARDED ORDERS OF MERLIN, FIRST CLASS._

_HARRY POTTER TO BE HONORED AT MINISTRY OF MAGIC GALA._

_HE-WHO-MUST-NOT-BE-NAMED'S ORIGINS REVEALED—WAS THE PUREBLOOD TYRANT HIMSELF A HALF-BLOOD?_

_HARRY POTTER FAILS TO ATTEND MINISTRY GALA IN HIS HONOR._

_RODOLPHUS LESTRANGE CAUGHT FLEEING ENGLAND, SENTENCED TO LIFE IN AZKABAN._

_GINEVRA WEASLEY QUESTIONED ABOUT HARRY POTTER'S ABSENCE AT MINISTRY GALA, ASSAULTS DAILY PROPHET REPORTER RITA SKEETER BY MEANS OF BAT BOGEY HEX._

_LUCIUS MALFOY CLEARED OF ALL CHARGES BY WIZENGAMOT, RELEASED FROM AZKABAN._

Hermione did read this last, if only because her outrage compelled her to. The article cited Malfoy's coercion at the hands of the Dark forces and his "admirable conduct" in providing relief aid to victims of the war. Hermione could only assume that gold had changed hands.

_Meanwhile, Draco Malfoy, 18, sole heir to the Malfoy fortune and Wiltshire estate, has been released from Ministry custody following testimony to his character by none other than the elusive Harry Potter. Ministry spokeswizards have declined to comment on the terms of Malfoy's probation, but our sources can report that this event is yet another surprising turn following Mr Potter's alleged testimony on behalf of one longstanding rival Severus Snape (now recipient of a posthumous Order of Merlin, First Class). Draco Malfoy's location is not currently known, though his bi-weekly presence at a probationary check-in with the Department of Magical Law Enforcement is expected._

_For more on Harry Potter's alleged assault on a school-aged cousin in a London reptile house, see pages 3 and 7..._

"Git," said Ron darkly, reading over her shoulder on the morning of Harry's birthday.

Hermione smiled, but she rather thought she agreed with Harry: in the end Malfoy had been through enough to constitute repayment for his errors.

Which did not make him any less of a coward, a bigot, or a generally unpleasant person.

"C'mon, don't read that rubbish, it'll turn your stomach," said Ron, tugging the article out of her hands and leading her down the front hall, where the portrait of Sirius's mother was carrying on shrilly about stains of dishonor polluting the minds of her faithful Elves. "Let's go before George and Ginny eat all the cake."

"What's that?" asked Hermione, pointing at the heavy sack Ron had slung over his shoulder.

"The washing, for Mum," he told her distractedly. "It's long overdue."

Hermione's brow furrowed but she made no comment—they were not children crouching in a tent anymore; they were past the point of instigating a petty fight at every disagreement. Suppressing the urge to roll her eyes, she exited the house and Disapparated with Ron to the Burrow, where a feebly protesting Rita Skeeter was fleeing the yard chased by Ginny and a small army of lawn gnomes.

* * *

"You will ingratiate yourself with the Ministry, Draco."

"I already spend enough time in that stinking place, father, for fuck's sake—"

"_You will watch your language_ when your mother is present."

"Right, because the Dark Lord can slit someone's throat at our dinner table but—"

"_I said_—"

"can't say _fuck_—"

A harsh exhale. A hand massaging temples.

"We only want what is best for you Draco, you know that. The current order of licking Potter's boots will fade in time, but for now the Mudbloods and blood traitors hold the keys to the kingdom, and it is important to present our best face to them."

"I'm not presenting Mudbloods with _anything._"

"It is an act, Draco, and a critical one. How many times did Snape try to impress that on you?"

"Snape was a bloody spy for the Order of the Phoenix the whole time!"

"I refuse to believe—"

"Then you're as stupid as the rest of them."

A steel-eyed glare. A bowed head.

"I'm sor—I... Don't ask me to do this, father."

A pause, drawn out and cold with regret.

"You will go to the Ministry and attach yourself to those most likely to accept donations. Do not be stingy. There are few marks gold will not wash out."

"Right."

"We are... proud of you for taking up the mantle now that—"

A scraping of chair legs against the floor. Footsteps, and a door closing over the end of a sentence.

* * *

Hermione's first day of work at the Ministry of Magic was filled with a number of unwanted surprises: the fact that her letter writing campaign had not yet managed to dislodge the horrendously bigoted Statue of Magical Brethren from the Atrium, the fact that it became immediately necessary to dodge the press encamped by the entrance demanding a statement about her alleged elopement with the Moldavian Minister for Magic (who was a _woman_), and most grievously of all the unexpected presence of Draco Malfoy on her floor.

There was a tarnish to his swagger and a tightness to the smug edges of his mouth, she noticed when she came face to face with him while leaving her microscopic cubicle and froze in place. Otherwise, the war did not seem to have had nearly enough impact on him. He was a little taller, looking down his nose at the whole world with a ghost of his father's haughty glower, and when at last he saw her and froze in his turn she did not need to ask what he was doing there. With a pocket full of gold he was endeavoring to plant his feet firmly in the new regime, she just knew it.

He gave an odd twitch of the head that was too contemptuous to be called a nod, and walked past her without comment, as though she were a part of the wall. In that moment Hermione missed Harry and Ron so badly that it was like a physical ache.

She had assumed that things between the three of them would go on the same as they always had. But eventually weeks of summer turned to months, and there were classes to return to while Harry and Ron went away to chase the last of the Death Eaters, and there were NEWT's to prepare for and visits to pay her parents half a world away—Hermione had been taken aback to find that even with their memories restored her parents had taken a liking to Australia. She felt thrown off balance, and wondered if they were simply trying to get away from her.

At length the tedium of a daily routine had begun to act as a balm over the collective wounds of the Wizarding community at large, soothing nerves frayed by the war back to their normal state. Not so for Hermione: she threw herself into her studies with vicious abandon, because the alternative was an overpowering sense of restlessness. The rush and chaos of war had sunk into her bones at some point, and she could not quite seem to shake it. She almost envied Ron and Harry... but her studies were of paramount importance, of course. A good education was what mattered most if she was going to enter into the Ministry and make a difference in magical law.

She drafted interminable letters to Ron which she always ended up crumpling and throwing into the fire, because she could imagine the look of consternation on his face at having to read her long-winded accounts of Professor Vector's lessons when he himself was out hunting dangerous criminals. Also, she held out a faint hope that he might learn to write a little more often than his current rate—two letters since the start of the year to Ginny's eleven—and that her silence might be a prod in the right direction. It did not take long for her to realize that she had been mistaken, leaving her simultaneously frightened and dispirited.

She did not even know if she and Ron were really together. They had been, all through the summer, but in the disjointed way that followed a war, when things like burials and eulogies took precedent over any real discussion of their future. Now they had not seen one another for months and months, and she got no sense that he was especially troubled by it.

Nor, in fact, was she quite as troubled as she had expected to be. She missed Ron, but she missed Harry too. Without the threat of war looming over them, putting their lives in question, there was little distinction.

It was not until she ran into Malfoy for the third time in the same week at the Ministry that Hermione began to question her grip on her own sanity, however. It was getting so that she could practically _feel_ Harry and Ron standing over her shoulders, making scathing comments and snorting at the haughty way Malfoy paraded himself around the Department like he owned the place—though judging by the clink of gold in his pockets perhaps he did. The thought that he could waltz back into society and buy the public's favor after all he had done, when she was working herself to the bone trying to advance her position through honest channels, made her see red. There had never been any point to engaging in open hostilities with Malfoy as this would simply mean stooping to his level (something Ron and Harry had never seemed to grasp), but Hermione could not help trailing him with her eyes whenever she caught sight of him. By the third time he made the circuit around the Department on the first Friday in July, Hermione was saturated with exasperation. When he made for the lifts, she seized a memo that needed to be delivered to the lower levels—any excuse to leave her cubicle—and followed him down, taking care to enter a separate lift. It was an odd impulse but a strong one. Perhaps she was stepping into Harry's shoes while he was gone.

Feeling slightly reckless, Hermione stayed five paces behind Malfoy, attempting to blend into the crowd without losing him, until he veered away from the more common route and turned into...

The old wartime courtrooms.

Hermione bit her lip and leaned against the wall, hiding her face as she pretended to be tying her shoelace. Of course, Malfoy must be going to his probationary check-in. She had not read anything about those being held down in the lower levels, where a chill still seemed to pervade the walls as a remnant of the time when the Dementors reigned.

"Are you following me, Granger?"

Caught off guard, Hermione nearly tripped over herself as she jumped around to face him. Malfoy was staring at her with his jaw set and his arms crossed.

_Wow, keenly spotted_, said the phantom Harry in her head, flashing a sarcastic grin.

"No," she said flatly, but she figured he knew she was lying.

Malfoy muttered something under his breath that she did not catch, and Hermione was jolted into action by the realization that she was standing there, gaping at him like a lunatic. It was just so _suspect _for him to be stalking around the Ministry unsupervised. Shrugging, she shuffled the folder containing her memo and made to walk away.

"Just stay the hell away from me, Granger." His drawl cut into her reflections in a jarringly familiar way—Ron's ears were turning an angry red in her head. "I don't need your bushy head clogging up the corridors when I'm trying to get work done."

_Work?_ she wanted to reply caustically. _Is that what you'd call bribing the Ministry into turning a blind eye to the mark on your arm?_

She very nearly did, but that would be stooping. She would not give him the satisfaction. His glare, in any case, was half-hearted. Even the insult did not have his usual practiced bite.

"You're losing your touch, Malf—" But he was already gone, through a side door and into some interrogation room where officials, whose forgiving spirit was apparently measured in proportion to the depth of Malfoy's pockets, would assess his behavior. It made her sick to her stomach.

Before she could turn to leave Hermione's eye caught on a glimmer of movement and she stared at the door at the end of the hall, flummoxed. It was the door to the Department of Mysteries, and it stood ajar.

"What—?" Hermione advanced with her arms outstretched like a sleepwalker, until she stood a foot from the door, her hand nearly touching the frame. It was absolutely, astoundingly abnormal for the Department of Mysteries to be unlocked. It was unheard of.

"Granger?"

Hermione turned and saw her boss, Wakanda Crowley, standing at the other end of the corridor and staring at her with eyebrows raised.

"I wasn't... I was just..." Hermione did not know where to begin. She gestured at the door, but judging by the look on Wakanda's face this was far from sufficient explanation. Glancing over her shoulder, Hermione's jaw nearly fell open when she saw that the door was closed.

She had not even heard the knob turn or the lock click.

"The Goblin Liaison Office is _not_ that way, Miss Granger," said Wakanda sharply.

"I—Of course."

Hermione hurried off, passing a tinted window on the way. The hairs on the back of her neck prickled and she could have sworn Malfoy was watching her as she walked by.

That night Hermione dreamt of the night she, Harry, Ron, and the others had broken into the Department of Mysteries in fifth year. That had been the first time she had truly engaged in an all-out, no-holds-barred battle, and the screams and flashes of light would stay with her forever. Then there had been the moment when Dolohov had placed that agonizing, heart-stopping curse on her. She had never let on to Harry how badly that curse had affected her—he had more than enough worries to be getting on with—but even three years later she still felt the ghost of an ache in her chest sometimes. It was as though it had never entirely faded.

Bizarrely, Malfoy managed to enter into her dream as well. He was standing on the stone dais where they had seen that ragged veil, his hair whipping about his face in a silent wind, his eyes boring into her. And then she had become aware that he was actually staring in horror at something over her shoulder. But just when she turned to look at what it was, she woke up.

_A scream cut short. A flash of red._

Hermione sat up in her bed, alone in her room at Grimmauld Place, and lit a candle with a flick of her wand. There was no question of going back to sleep now, so she stood and approached her bookcase, looking for a familiar title.

* * *

_Dear Hermione,_

_Thank you for the birthday wishes! That unplottable compass will come in very handy. Ron will be writing to you soon I'm sure. We've just been very busy here. I can't put where we are in writing in case it's intercepted—the Ministry wants us to stay incognito—but I can say we'll be on our way home soon. I can't wait. Ron's Mum tried to send Treacle Tarts with Errol and the other Aurors ate nearly all of them in the process of "checking the mail for dark enchantments."_

_I can't imagine why the Department of Mysteries would be unlocked at any time, let alone the middle of the day. Are you sure you had the right door? Well, of course you are. I think you're right, you'd do well to keep an eye out. If this happened just when Malfoy was headed down the corridor it sounds as though something dodgy might be in the offing. I spoke to Robards about it but he didn't sound at all convinced that you weren't just hallucinating the whole thing. Be careful though. Don't put yourself in harm's way. From what I understand from Kingsley, there have been some new projects launched in the Department of Mysteries since Voldemort's death. Really odd stuff, though of course no one knows what. Rumor has it they're working on some sort of undetectable escape portal, like a magical panic room, whatever that means._

_Congratulations on your NEWT results, though it's no surprise! Ron keeps laughing about the look on Percy's face when he finds out you scored higher than he did in everything._

_We'll be home soon. Say hello to Luna and Neville if you see them._

_Best,_

_Harry._

* * *

**A/N:** Greetings and salutations! I know, I should NOT be starting a new fic when I have two WIP's going. But this plot bunny was unassailable, a force to be reckoned with (I'll still try to manage regular updates on the others)... So, this will be a long fic, because I want to try writing this pairing as a really slow burn. I got inspired after reading all of everythursday's fics over on H&V. The premise (trapped together in the Department of Mysteries) will kick in at about the 3 or 4 chapter mark, so don't worry, there will be very little Ron from that point on.


	2. In Memoriam

**II – In Memoriam**

"_Draco—don't!"_

_A flash of red. A violent pounding in her head, blurring her vision._

_Ashes and debris everywhere, falling from the sky and rising from the ground, and the steely taste of blood in her mouth. Absence; his absence, tearing at already ragged insides with its insistence._

_A strangled gasp._

* * *

The polished rosewood banisters shone a deep amber overhead, and Hermione wondered how much gold had gone into the renovating of this office. She wrinkled her nose but was roused from her bitter reflections by the creak of the door, through which stepped the polished shoes and meticulously cut robes of... Draco Malfoy.

His habit of appearing everywhere she wished he was not was beginning to grow tiresome.

"This room is reserved for Ministry officials," she said in as neutral a tone as she could manage, though she might have sounded a bit more snappish than she had intended.

"I was invited here," he said rigidly, taking a seat as far away from her as the room allowed. "And if you hope to make a name for yourself here—_not_ that I don't suspect you'll fail within the month—you should really learn the value of keeping your mouth shut and minding your own business."

_Invited?_ Affronted as much by the idea that her superiors had thought it appropriate to involve Malfoy in a staff meeting as by his words, Hermione's lips thinned into a hard line.

"I have as much right to be here as you, Malfoy." _More, so much more._

He was silent for so long that Hermione thought he might actually have accepted the reprieve. Surely, his bravado _must_ be down to deeply buried shame—for the way he owed Harry his life many times over, for the things that had been done to her in his home during the war, for the small glimmer of decency he had to have hidden away in the back of his mind. But then Wakanda entered the room and Hermione realized, as she schooled her expression into one of polite interest, that Malfoy had simply been waiting for this moment knowing she would not dare retort in front of a superior.

"That's what you think, is it?" he said very quietly.

Wakanda, who had not heard, said briskly, "Ah, Granger, you're here. Good. I've asked Malfoy to join us today because of his link with the Head of the Office for Repossession of Dark Artifacts—we'll be discussing the legal side of the new set of raids proposed by the Auror Office. Malfoy here may have particular insight. An unsanctioned raid was performed on his family's estate last week. The Ministry is undertaking to draft a retraction and formal apology."

"Very good Mrs Crowley," said Hermione emotionlessly, because she had no desire to begin questioning her superior's judgment, however faulty that judgment might be. After a moment, however, she added, "Although if you require a second opinion, I'd be happy to assist in the matter of the Wiltshire raids. I'm familiar with the estate. In fact I spent some time in Malfoy Manor once, over a year ago."

She allowed her eyes to flick over to Malfoy's for a moment and saw that the latter had gone very still, as though his face was carved from marble.

"Yes indeed?" said Wakanda distractedly, rifling through her briefcase as more employees began to file into the room.

Malfoy did not speak a word for the entirety of the meeting.

* * *

Hermione sat down in her favorite armchair by her bookcase that night with a slight frown creasing her brow. By the end of the day the smugness of having one-upped Malfoy had faded, to be replaced by the small voice in her head that set to scolding her whenever she let her temper get the best of her.

_That was childish._

He deserved it.

_But if you stoop to his level you're no better than he is!_

Bollocks to that, there's nothing wrong with standing up for myself.

_He's too pathetic to do any real harm, why not just ignore him?_

... He deserved it!

The effect of her fierce internal debate was rather the same as when she had slapped Malfoy across the face in third year: it was satisfactory, but it stung afterward. Breathing deeply to calm herself, Hermione resolved to banish Malfoy from her thoughts. He did not deserve her preoccupation. Instead she turned her attention to the more pressing problem of the Department of Mysteries.

Hermione had taken to staking out the corridor leading to the Department all through her lunch hours, though more than once Wakanda had spotted her again and offered pointed sniffs of disapproval. When absolutely nothing transpired during these daily vigils other than her stomach rumbling angrily as she missed her chance to eat, Hermione tried out a different tactic. Opting for a straightforward attitude, she had spoken directly to the Minister's assistant.

It was not at all in Hermione's nature to play up her fame for personal gain, but the moment she had spotted her own Chocolate Frog card staring up at her from Kingsley's secretary's desk she had known that it was worth a go.

As it turned out, Kingsley's assistant was a regular chatterbox. In fact, Hermione had difficulty stopping him from speaking so that she could steer him in the right direction.

"It certainly seems like you've got a handle on everything that goes on around here!" she cut in when the enthusiastic young man took a breath from firing off rapid facts about the Department of Magical Games and Sports. "You know, I heard the strangest story the other day. Apparently someone from the Department of Mysteries—"

"Oh they're all in uproar down there, all right! There was a leak, you see. A high-ranking member passing information to outside Departments, apparently."

"Really?"

"Yes, it's all been hushed up of course, but... Maybe I could tell you about it over dinner?"

Hermione sprung to her feet immediately, flushing. She really ought not to have abused her position like that, but it confirmed what Harry had said: something shady was brewing around the Department of Mysteries.

"Oh, that's very kind of you, but I—Well I'm really quite busy at the moment and... I'm afraid I couldn't."

And she hurried away as the young man was still busy enumerating his restaurant preferences.

* * *

The triumphant headline read: _AURORS POTTER AND WEASLEY RETURN TO ENGLAND IN TIME FOR ANNUAL WAR MEMORIAL CELEBRATION._

What it did not say: The Ministry was using the anniversary of the official memorial for all those killed in the war to throw a lavish party to raise funds. The Ministry, it seemed, was always scraping the bottom of the barrel, always looking for new sources of funding. Considering her rather meager salary, Hermione sometimes found this hard to believe.

Still, Wakanda made it quite clear to all her staff that she expected their presence at the illustrious event, so Hermione spent the morning of the first of August rummaging through her wardrobe for an outfit that expressed both her distaste for the event and her respect for the deceased. Settling on a sober gray dress that fell to her knees, she turned to observe herself in the mirror and let out a small scream.

"Surprised?" said Ron, grinning at her from the doorway.

"I—Yes—My God, it's so good to see you!" She had not thought to close the door as she changed, after having spent so much time alone in the house. Harry, now grinning at her from the hall, had averted his eyes at the half-unzipped state of her dress. Ron had not. At present he strode across the room to kiss her. That was... abrupt.

"I can't believe you're back," she said once she had regained some measure of composure. "You have to tell me all about your year before we go to this silly Ministry thing."

"Well just last week I had a brush with a dragon..."

"You _what?_"

"A _newly hatched_ dragon," Harry interrupted, smirking at Ron. "It was two hours old."

"Still."

The remainder of the afternoon passed amicably between them, and Hermione told herself that she was imagining the slight awkwardness that lingered between herself and Ron. Harry recounted their thrilling capture of Fenrir Greyback, and Hermione told them of Gryffindor's landslide House Cup win (a welcome feat after the previous year, during which the Carrows had awarded Slytherin a grand total of eight thousand points and the other Houses none).

"And Gryffindor won the Quidditch Cup as well," she added. "Ginny made a terrific Captain, from what I could tell."

"Which reminds me," said Harry suddenly, glancing at his watch in alarm. "Damn, I'm cutting it close. Don't want to be late to meet Ginny. I really have to get going."

"You haven't seen her yet?" said Hermione, touched, if a little surprised, that he had chosen to drop in on her first.

"No one else is supposed to know we're back," Ron explained. "We wanted it to be a surprise."

Hermione grinned. "The _Prophet_ might have ruined that for you, just a little."

By the time she and Ron made it to the Ministry for the Memorial, Hermione was proven correct by the hordes of reporters crowding around Ron, demanding a detailed account of his travels. She smiled and gestured for him to oblige, unable to grudge him his moment in the spotlight after all his hard work. Besides, he did not look very reluctant to tell his story.

"Miss Granger!" a short, blonde reporter with violent orange lipstick called after her as she made to enter the Ministry. "Miss Granger, how does it feel to reunite with Ronald Weasley after his triumphant return? Are you ready for the pressures of being associated with him?"

Hermione frowned. _Are you ready to bask in his glory?_ the question was really asking. After briefly contemplating taking the reporter's quill—as orange as her lips—and jamming it in her eye, Hermione walked off without comment. Once inside the Atrium she dodged three photographers and wove her way through the crowd until she entered the emptiest and most secluded corridor she could find. Merlin, but she so violently did not want to be present at this event at all.

"Fuck's sake, Granger, is this some sort of hobby of yours? Following me around?"

Hermione gritted her teeth at the familiar sound of Draco Malfoy's drawling voice. There he was, leaning against a dimly lit stone column, a flute of Champagne in his hand. The last thing she needed...

"I didn't know you were here," she said, which sounded too much like an apology. She wanted to leave, but she did not want him to think he had chased her away. "I see quite enough of you during the week, believe me."

"You're telling me," he muttered, sneering, and his eyes were unfocused. His hair was a little ruffled, too, and his tie was askew. He was drunk, Hermione realized. There was something terribly unsettling about seeing Malfoy so disheveled: he seemed less like himself and more like a person who might do any number of things, might become unhinged without warning. At last he added something that sounded vaguely like "Oh, you haven't fucked off yet," and Hermione was seized by a powerful desire to wipe the sneer from his face.

"What are you up to? With the Department of Mysteries?"

He froze almost comically. His knuckles turned white as he clutched the stem of his wine glass and Hermione felt a surge of triumph.

"Your giant head's finally caved in on itself, Granger," he snapped. It was remarkable, really, that he was not slurring his words. "I don't know what the hell you're talking about."

"Is that why you look like you've just walked straight through a ghost?"

"Nosy bitch."

"I'm so terribly hurt."

He took a careful, measured step in her direction, and another. Even though there were still several feet between them Hermione suddenly felt threatened.

"I won't waste my advice on the likes of you again, Granger, so I suggest you pay attention," Malfoy said in a low voice. "If you know what's good for you you'll stay away from the Department of Mysteries."

"Well, now I'm ready to rethink everything!" Hermione scoffed. "After fighting Voldemort for a year a threat from _you_ is really going to be what puts me off."

Malfoy had flinched at the sound of Voldemort's name. Disgusted, Hermione strode away to look for Harry, who might at least reassure that Gawain Robards was aware of the situation with the Department of Mysteries. She heard glass shatter and glanced back to see Malfoy smashing his Champagne flute as he punched the stone wall behind him.

_Ashes and debris. A strangled gasp._

* * *

"Hermione! I was wondering where you'd gotten to. Why'd you leave the party so early?"

A rustle of fabric and paper.

"What's this book about, Ron?"

"What... What're you doing with my trunk?"

"I was going to hide your homecoming gift in it as a surprise. What's this book?"

An awkward shuffling of feet.

"Well it's just—It's a joke. Something Fred and George gave me."

"And you thought you'd bring it abroad with you? What, were you hoping to chat up a couple of Death Eaters?"

"You know I bloody well didn't! I read it so I could, you know, learn to talk to you properly."

"Oh, well I'm glad you think so highly of me. Let's see, shall we? _Twelve Fail-Safe Ways to Charm Witches_, first chapter. '_One must never forget the golden rule: the witch's mind is irrational. Although they possess keen senses in the art of shopping, females can be counted on to display fits of frivolity and unprovoked anger. In order to stay one step ahead, the frequent of purchase of gifts is recommended (flowers and chocolate are preferred, while cooking manuals are discouraged)._' Gosh, what an enlightening text."

"Well it's a bit—It's old fashioned, but—"

"But what, Ron? But _what_, exactly?"

"... Well it _worked_, didn't it?"

A scream of derision and a flurry of confused spluttering.

"I just meant, you know, it set me on the right track."

"I'm not a homework assignment, Ron. You can't use crib notes from some silly book to—"

"Figures the first time in your life you'd talk about a book that way would be about the only one that's ever been any use to me."

Crossed arms and the angry tapping of a foot.

"... '_Cooking manuals are discouraged._' I mean, _really!_"

"I really think you're overreacting. What's wrong with—"

"I'm not your mother, Ron—"

"_What?_ What the hell does that—"

"... can't charm a delicious meal in under thirty minutes and—"

"... don't expect you to—"

"... what about all those times in the tent when you'd harp on about—"

"_Harp on?_ What would you call what you're doing now, then?"

A furious exit and a slamming door. A few moments to breathe. A door opened once more.

"Ron, I'm sorry, I—"

An empty room.

* * *

_MINISTRY EMPLOYEE FIRED FOR ATTEMPTED TRESPASS._

_Damocles Chiswick, 67, of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, was seen Wednesday exiting the Ministry with his assembled effects, having been summarily fired for charges of attempted trespassing on property restricted to employees of the Department of Mysteries. Both Chiswick and authorized representatives of the Department of Mysteries have declined to comment on the event, and Chiswick is allegedly guilty of attempting to attack questioners by means of severe bites. Special correspondent Rita Skeeter spoke instead to Chiswick's assistant Carlisle Belby. _

"_Old Damocles was always just a couple of feet short of going round the bend, yeah," says Belby, who worked for Chiswick for three and a half months prior to his boss' sacking. "But especially towards the end, right, he was always going on about Unspeakables and some kind of plot. Conspiracy theorist type, I reckon."_

_Chiswick left no instruction upon his departure, and has not been seen since his disgraced exit from the Ministry. Belby has been appointed as interim Undersecretary to the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement in his absence, a considerable promotion which Belby plans to tackle with enthusiasm._

"_I got me some ideas," Belby explains from his new office, which has been stripped of the outdated wallpaper that once dominated the spacious room and reupholstered to provide a warmer environment. According to his superiors Belby is expected to bring an exciting, fresher take on the policies dealt with in the Department._

_For more on Damocles Chiswick's previous association with fundamentalist Centaur activist groups, see pages 4 and 11..._

* * *

**A/N:** Thanks a bunch to **everlastingtrueromance** for reviewing, and everyone who followed/favorited. Gosh, three story updates in a day, I'm hanging onto my sanity by a thread... So as you may be able to tell this story is going to be more of a strong M than anything I've done before (language and scenes of a sexual nature, though nothing too graphic- smut makes me collapse into fits of nervous hysteria, like hey beloved childhood character, what are you doing?) so... just a warning I guess. Will update within the week. Cheers!


	3. The Sunken Candle

**III – The Sunken Candle**

_A strangled gasp and a cascade of ashes. Cold hands fumbling against the crumbling ground, brushing against a pool of blood._

"_Oh my God!"_

"_Get the hell away from me."_

"_Draco—"_

_An earth-shattering crash followed by a growl. Two pairs of eyes turned upwards in identical horror._

* * *

Hermione marched into Harry's office with a mind not to take no for an answer. She could tell from the look on his face the moment he saw her that he knew she had been doing serious research. A faint line of apprehension creased his brow, and she almost wanted to laugh.

"I've got to go to lunch in ten minutes," he forestalled her, but Hermione threw out an arm to keep him from escaping.

"Damocles Chiswick is missing Harry. He's _missing._"

Harry frowned.

"The Undersecretary to the Head of Magical Law Enforcement!" Hermione reminded him impatiently. "The one who was sacked last week. I spoke to his neighbors—"

"You went to his _house?_"

"And none of them can remember seeing since the night after he lost his job."

She had in fact gone _inside_ Chiswick's house, and found a most worrying scene. Apart from the fully stocked kitchen and unmade bed, none of which indicated a vacation or otherwise planned absence, she had actually found an open book on the dining room table next to a candle burned all the way down to the end of its wick. It was as though Chiswick had run out the door in a mighty hurry and been detained somewhere along the way, unable to return to tend to his house. Hermione had examined the book on the table at length but found only a series of very dry explanations of the habits of werewolf clans.

Harry listened to her explanation with an obvious attempt at open-mindedness, but by the end was looking markedly confused.

"I don't see how this has anything to do with the Department of Mysteries," he said at last, rubbing his temples wearily.

"Well, you see, this is where it gets really interesting," said Hermione enthusiastically, and Harry groaned. "I confiscated some records from the Magical Decorators' Union that handles remodeling Ministry offices, and I found out that they received payment to redecorate Chiswick's office to his assistant Belby's specifications on Tuesday."

Harry merely blinked at her.

"Chiswick was fired on _Wednesday!_ Wednesday, Harry. That means he found out something about the Department of Mysteries he wasn't supposed to, and they abducted him somehow, to shut him up. And they installed Belby in his place because he—maybe he was in on it. They had it all planned ahead of time!"

"They?" Harry repeated. "Who are _they?_"

"I don't know!" Hermione flapped her hands in agitation. "That's what we have to find out. Can't you ask Robards if—"

"Hermione," Harry interrupted firmly, and she bit her lip. "I thought you had something at first, but this is getting out of control. I think you're—Don't you think you might be grasping at straws to distract yourself from, you know..."

Hermione narrowed her eyes. "There's nothing to distract myself _from_. Ron hasn't spoken to me in almost two weeks."

"You're the one who called it off. He's bound to be, you know, upset." Harry shuffled his feet, looking acutely uncomfortable.

"I didn't call it off. I suggested we keep our distance for a _few days_ to think things over." She could not help the way her voice rose shrilly. She could tell that Harry wished he had not brought it up, but who else was she to discuss this with?

"Well, you know how he is, he was bound to overreact."

"It's not my fault he's as touchy as a Hippogriff when it comes to—"

"Hermione, couldn't you just—"

"No, Harry!"

They stared at each other, the silence swelling tensely until Harry shrugged and gathered up his cloak.

"D'you want to come to lunch with me and Scammander?" he asked. "There's this place around the corner that makes those cinnamon Cauldron Cakes you like."

Hermione could not muster up the energy to be annoyed with him for his fierce determination to remain neutral in her debacles with Ron. It was at least better than their early school days when he had eternally sided with Ron no matter the situation.

"I can't," she said, "I have six reports to finish up and a meeting. But I'll stop by on my way out if you want to go to dinner in Diagon Alley. That'll give me just enough time to do some more research on Chiswick's interest in Werewolves."

Harry smiled, but as she left she distinctly saw him shake his head and heard him mutter, "Won't end well."

* * *

_Hermione,_

_I'm sorry. The book was stupid. I was stupid to defend the stupid book. I got it a long time ago and... it doesn't matter. I know I can't just take shortcuts instead of doing things properly. Which is why I've decided to go to Paris for a little while. George has asked me to help him set up the Paris branch of Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes and the Auror Office has granted me a six month leave. My Portkey is set to leave tonight. Don't tell Harry, I'll be writing to him as soon as I finish this letter to you. I have to learn to do things for myself._

_I always used to think, before the war, that we were so short on time. Everything had to be worked out right away, I'm sure you felt the same sometimes. Things are different now that we've all come out of it in one piece. We've got so much time ahead of us and it's put things in perspective a bit. You and Harry and I will always, you know, be there for whatever the others need, obviously, that's a given. But you and I are so different that it's difficult..._

_Merlin, Hermione, don't hate me when you read this. You can torture me, send some more birds to attack me if you like, but I hope you'll take pity on me and write to say you don't hate me._

_I don't know what I'll come back to when I come home, but that's not a bad feeling. You'll probably be Minister by then, with House-elves making up all your senior staff. Take care, Hermione, really._

_All the best,_

_Ron._

Hermione watched her teardrops blur the ink on the parchment, then folded up the letter and placed it in a drawer of her bedside table.

He had left. He _always_ left.

Forcing a deep breath in and out to calm herself, she descended to the entrance hallway, walked out the door, and Apparated to the Ministry. It was Sunday and she was not expected to come into work by any means, but she could use the need to draft some memos ahead of time as an excuse to swing by the lower levels to have a look at that pesky door.

The Ministry was nearly deserted, with only Ernie the watchwizard sitting boredly at the entrance and a few elderly witches gossiping by the Fountain of Magical Brethren. The clanking of the lifts was a little eerie in the oppressive silence, but Hermione had faced much worse than the gloom of a dark corridor in the past. As she passed the old courtrooms and approached the Department of Mysteries she began to hear soft footfalls synchronized with her own, and she rolled her eyes, suppressing a smirk. She glanced at the reflection in a window without turning her head, and sure enough, there was his shadow.

Hermione waited until she was inches from the door before saying, without turning around, "Who's following who now, Malfoy?"

She did not need to look to know that he was glaring at her.

"Couldn't keep out of it, could you?" he replied coldly. "Nothing else to occupy your social calendar now the Chosen One's off being the greatest Auror who ever graced us with his presence? What's the matter, Weasley isn't enough for you anymore?"

Hermione wanted to scream at him to shut up. Wanted, in fact, to rip his tongue from his mouth so that he might never inflict his toxic conversation on anyone again. Instead she pressed her lips tightly together and said nothing.

_Ignore them, darling,_ her mother's voice echoed in her head. _They want a reaction. Just ignore them._

After a few moments' silent examination Hermione straightened up and reached for the doorknob, but to her surprise Malfoy yelped and ran to her side.

"Don't!"

She looked at him, perplexed. "I don't care what fairy tales your father told you growing up, Malfoy. You don't order me around."

Hermione reached forward again but this time Malfoy's hand actually closed around her wrist, forcing it back. She tried to yank her arm away angrily but he held fast, his eyes glowing dangerously. It was an oddly foreign feeling to have his skin against hers. She was quite certain that in their eight years of acquaintance they had never so much as brushed arms accidentally.

"You know something, don't you?" Hermione accused him. "Something's going on. What is it? Is the door cursed?"

"If the door was cursed I'd hardly give a fuck if you touched it, would I?"

"So what is it then? Tell me, or I swear I'll have you arrested."

His lip curled in a humorless sneer. "I'm guessing you've already tried that. You don't have nearly enough clout with Law Enforcement yet, but maybe Potter's boss. Robards didn't buy your story, did he?"

"Are you saying Robards is _in on it?_"

"I'm saying just because there's a tarted up picture of you on a Chocolate Frog Card, doesn't mean you have any sway here. You have no idea what you're messing around with. They don't take kindly to Mudbloods sticking their noses into—"

With her free hand Hermione whipped out her wand, and Malfoy dropped her wrist at once. There was a curse at the tip of her tongue, which she restrained herself from uttering with great difficulty. Taking the high road was all very good, but she was not about to stand back and suffer _that word_ to be thrown around again. Not after everything she had been through. Not after what Fred and Lupin and Moody and all the others had sacrificed...

"It's a _fact_, Granger," Malfoy hissed, eyeing her wand nervously. "This isn't something you want to get involved in. Go back to campaigning for Gremlin's rights or whatever it is you do."

"So help me, Malfoy, if you don't start talking I'm going to stake out this door twenty-four hours a day so you never get another chance to do whatever it is you're doing."

Abruptly he pulled out a pocket-watch and his eyebrows drew together.

"Five minutes," he spat. "Too late, the window of opportunity's nearly up. If you pull this shit again I promise you'll regret it."

"Threatening a Ministry official now?"

"Get over yourself, Granger. This is your last chance."

Already he was stalking away. Hermione heard voices approaching in the distance and hastened to follow him, still furiously attempting to come up with some way to wrest information from him. Then they reached the end of the corridor, and there were footsteps approaching, and a nameless foreboding crept up on her. What if there was something to Malfoy's vague, ominous threats? What if someone even more worrisome was on their way?

Without a word Hermione and Malfoy glanced at one another, then headed off in opposite directions. Though she had not accomplished what she had meant to Hermione's brain was reeling at all the new information she had gathered.

She had an owl to send to Harry. He would have just heard about Ron, of course, but he would want to know about this, too. Something very unsettling was afoot.

* * *

A room plunged into semi-darkness. A pair of hooded figures meeting by candlelight.

"She was there again today."

"So was he."

"The boy is not a problem. He can easily be made to comply. She is sharp-minded. Already she knows too much."

A hedging silence.

"We proceed the same as with Chiswick."

"We cannot afford to use those tactics again. She is too well-known, people would take notice."

"She went to Chiswick's home. She may have seen..."

"The place ought to have been stripped down immediately after."

"That error is irrelevant now. It is past. We must act to avoid repeating the same mistakes."

Steepled fingers and a slow, labored breath.

"There is another possible course of action."

A sharp intake of breath, quickly stifled.

"We let her _into—?_"

"Those close to her will already know of her interest in the matter. They will think... a reckless venture inside, an accident."

"This could backfire if she escapes."

"No one could do that. Not before many weeks."

"So, we let the boy in with her, and..."

"And he does our work for us."

A settled silence. A handshake.

* * *

_Granger,_

_Meet at Raven's Head Pub on Tuesday at eight. DO NOT let anyone follow you._

_DM_

Hermione stared at the note, slipped into her bag without her notice, disbelieving and elated in equal measure. She could barely allow herself to believe that Malfoy had changed his mind. Of course, he would want something in exchange, but she would just have to find some way to work around that.

The Raven's Head pub was in Knockturn Alley, she recalled. Harry had performed a raid there a week ago. It was likely Malfoy had set it as their meeting place simply to annoy her. Surely he would not be stupid enough to attempt an ambush. The cautious side of her brain, often starved and neglected in recent years, whispered that she should warn Harry and arrange a hidden guard. But although she could not bring herself to lie to Harry outright, she did not have to tell him everything. Hermione did not want to risk Malfoy discovering that she had not followed his directive and leaving.

Gritting her teeth, Hermione braced herself for what was sure to be an eventful meeting.

_Two pairs of eyes turned upwards in identical horror._

* * *

**A/N:** Many thanks to **IDanceToForget** and **Lupinara** for reviewing. Next chapter the shit hits the fan, to put it plainly. Until then..._  
_


	4. Blood and Venom

**IV – Blood and Venom**

"_Oh my God!"_

"_Get the hell away from me."_

_An earth-shattering crash and two pairs of eyes turned upwards in horror. Sharp eyes and a long reach, towering above and coiled to pounce; its breath a vicious cloud of steam. The ground trembling with its steps._

"_You have to get up—"_

"_Run."_

_An unearthly howl._

* * *

The Raven's Head pub was a dingy establishment at best, with sparse windows and an almost toxic overabundance of smoke obscuring the faces of its patrons. Hermione had arrived forty-five minutes early in the hopes of being already present when Malfoy showed himself, but to her dismay she found him sitting in a corner booth with an unopened bottle of Ogden's Finest, waiting for her and looking as bad-tempered as ever.

"Have you forgotten how to sit down, Granger?" he drawled when he spotted her. "It's a simple enough task..."

Hermione scowled and took a seat across the booth, as far from him as she could manage. She eyed the bottle, hoping sincerely that she was not expected to drink during this meeting. Malfoy followed her gaze and rolled his eyes.

"That's not for you Granger. I'd like to get this over with as soon as possible."

"So would I."

But instead of proceeding with his agenda, Malfoy merely sat back and stared at her, the lines of his mouth faintly disdainful as though she were a potion stain on a brand new textbook.

"_You_ asked me here, Malfoy," Hermione said, annoyed. "What do you want?"

"You to stop hanging around the Department of Mysteries, and generally fucking things up for me."

"I'm not going to do that until you give me some answers."

"Exactly." He crossed his arms behind his head. "So ask away."

Hermione's mouth fell open in spite of her and she quickly snapped it shut. Could it possibly be this easy?

"What happened to Damocles Chiswick?" she tried, stifling a small cough as acrid smoke blew into her face.

Malfoy shook his head. "No clue."

"Was he removed so Belby could be installed in his place?"

"You wouldn't be asking if you didn't already know."

"Why was the door to the Department of Mysteries open that day I saw you going into the courtrooms?"

"Because someone opened it."

Hermione huffed in exasperation. "If this is how you answer questions, Malfoy, I'm not surprised you did so poorly in school**.**"

His expression darkened, but Hermione was distracted by a sudden movement in the corner of her eye. She turned to see a tall, hulking figure in a cloak taking a seat in the booth across from theirs, hand bunch in his pocket around what was surely a wand. Warning bells began to go off in her head and she delved into her own pocket, just to be safe.

An ambush? Or a spy reporting elsewhere?

"That's the security wizard, Granger," said Malfoy abruptly. "In case anyone drinks too much, gets unruly. Get your fucking nerves under control."

"You try living on the run from Voldemort for a year, see if your nerves are under control," Hermione snapped, goaded into a defensive attitude—exactly what she had sworn to herself she would not allow to happen.

"_You_ try living with him in your house for a year."

Hermione's breath caught and she stared at Malfoy, taken aback. He looked furious with himself, as though the words had slipped out before he could stop himself. Hermione had no retort. She took a deep breath to collect herself.

"All right, you obviously have no intention of answering my questions," she said rigidly. "So why am I really here?"

"Use your brains, Granger. I thought you were meant to have some."

Hermione narrowed her eyes. One heartbeat, two, three, and she had it.

"You want after-hours access to the Ministry! You must be _joking!_ I wouldn't do that in a million years."

"Bullshit. You're Hermione fucking Granger, the Minister'd lick your boots if you asked him to. You're telling me you can't get into the Ministry for one night?"

"I didn't say I couldn't, I said I wouldn't."

"Chiswick was removed because he found out they were getting into the Department to perform illegal experiments. Belby ratted him out in exchange for the top job."

Hermione gaped, her heart hammering a hundred beats per minute.

"And why do you want access?" she breathed.

"That's need to know."

"Well forget it. I'm not working with you to break into the Ministry, for Merlin's sake. I could go to Azkaban for that and _you don't deserve_ my help."

"You'll change your mind," Malfoy said in a low voice. _Can't stand not being in the know, not playing the hero_, his eyes told her. And to her dismay, for a moment, she actually considered it.

"Goodbye, Malfoy," she said firmly. "Stay away from the Department."

"I'll hear from you soon," he replied, supremely confident.

Hermione glanced back at the bottle of Ogden's, still untouched.

"Enjoy the company," she said drily, waving at the bottle.

"I'm not going to drink the muck they serve here, Granger. _Fuck._"

"Muck? It's forty Galleons a bottle! Why did you order it if you're not even going to have any?"

"Because I can."

Disgusted, Hermione left the pub. Her hand was still clenched around her wand in her pocket.

* * *

A midnight stillness interrupted. A shadow creeping across a quiet room.

A sleeper stirring awake.

"What the—? _Shit!_"

A muffled grunt and a silent struggle. The glint of a needle in the moonlight.

"Gerrof, I'll do whatever you want... _Aargh!_"

A syringe slowly emptied into the bloodstream. Eyes wide and full of terror.

"What the hell've you—"

"_Obliviate._"

A midnight stillness restored. Faint bruises the only reminder.

_Sharp eyes. Coiled to pounce. An unearthly howl._

* * *

"Malfoy's looking at you," said Harry quietly, nodding across the Atrium with a frown.

"He has to look somewhere," Hermione muttered, casting about for a change of subject. Withholding information from Harry was nearly as bad as lying. Her constitution revolted against it. But every time she brought up her theory about Malfoy and the Department of Mysteries, Harry brought up Ron. And she would not, _could_ not talk about Ron. She had been so bone-deep weary about the whole thing lately, so distracted, that she had not noticed that she was wearing her old Gryffindor uniform instead of her work robes that morning until she was already at the Ministry.

"He's not giving you any trouble, is he? Because I can—"

"No. No trouble."

_Liar, liar!_

Harry surveyed her suspiciously for a moment, but finally the creases in his forehead smoothed out and he seemed to decide to drop it. He had been looking at her with such careful sympathy since Ron's departure, it was almost insulting. She knew that he was watching for signs that she might fall apart as she had done in sixth year. Funnily enough, he himself seemed to be doing well enough. But Harry could visit Ron, she reflected. He could write him lighthearted letters and Floo him whenever he liked.

"D'you want to come to Ginny's match with me this weekend?" he asked a little too casually. "They're playing Puddlemere United."

"Sure," said Hermione distractedly, keeping an eye on Malfoy. He had just entered the lifts and begun to descend to the lower levels. Oh, she just _knew_ he was headed for that door.

"Great. See you later." Harry surprised her by pulling her into a quick hug before walking off to deliver a memo. Hermione stared after him for a moment, her heart warming, before she remembered Malfoy.

"Not on my watch," she said to herself, hastening to follow him down the lifts and into the corridor to the courtrooms. To her consternation, however, Malfoy was not in the corridor, and the door to the Department of Mysteries stood open once more.

Had he actually gone _inside_, the complete moron? She could have him permanently thrown out of the Ministry for this. Hermione strode forward and then paused a few feet from the door. She could be thrown out of the Ministry too, if she was discovered. But there was not a soul in sight and she only intended to pop in for a moment, locate Malfoy, and drag him out. No harm. It was exactly what Harry would have done.

Exactly the kind of reckless thing she would have advised Harry not to do.

Harry looking at her with something almost like pity... She could not stand to think of Ron. Her mind made up, Hermione nudged open the door and entered the Department of Mysteries.

* * *

_Ministry of Magic Interdepartmental Memo #083361028_

_Hermione, Kingsley's just pulled me and a task force of other Aurors aside for a special meeting. God, you were right—big surprise. Something's going on with the Dep. Of Mysteries. I'm not sure about the particulars yet and I can't go into it, but whatever you do, DON'T GO DOWN THERE. Don't go near that door, especially not alone. And stay away from Malfoy. I'll explain as soon as I can._

_Write me back AS SOON as you get this. I'm headed for your office in a minute._

* * *

"Malfoy?"

It was just as she remembered it. A large, circular room lined with sealed doors on all sides. But Malfoy was not there. For heaven's sake, how thick could he be to have tried to venture further? Was it possible he was not in here after all?

"Malfoy, enough is enough! You don't want to wind up in Azkaban, do you? Let's _go_."

Still nothing. This was becoming far too reminiscent of her last visit to the Department of Mysteries, and Hermione began to mentally backtrack. There was no call for her to personally take on the mystery of Malfoy and the open door, after all. She would talk to Harry, and Kingsley, and _make_ them believe her. Cool heads would prevail.

"All right," she murmured to herself. "Okay. I give up. Time to go."

She turned to leave.

"Granger, _don't move._"

_I KNEW IT!_

He had Disillusioned himself, of course, _of course_. Now that her eyes jumped to the place his voice had come from she could see the slight disturbance in the air that was the outline of Malfoy's body.

"Why not?" Hermione asked, her voice shaking with something, triumph or fear or both.

He must have cast the spell non-verbally, because suddenly Malfoy was visible once more, and his eyes were boring into a spot just above her shoulder. Hermione turned her head slowly to look behind her, and her heart missed a beat.

The door was closed.

"Don't cast a spell," Malfoy warned tensely. She looked back and saw sheer panic in his eyes.

Hermione knew the truth before she asked. "What is this? Is it a trap?" Breathing ragged, muscles clenching. "We have to get out of here!"

The moment she made a move to leave a searing pain tore through Hermione's head, wrenching a scream from her lips before she could clamp them shut. She was momentarily paralyzed, all her energy focused on keeping her knees from buckling, and then the pain was gone, replaced by her harsh pants as she attempted to regain control.

"Can you move?" she asked Malfoy, slowly inching her fingers into her pocket to retrieve her wand and hoping this would not set off another splitting headache.

"Not much."

"I've never heard of a spell like this, I don't know if—"

"Not fucking important right now."

He might, for once, have had a point. Hermione gripped her wand until her fingers hurt, waiting, because she knew what came next. Sure enough, a loud rumbling rose up from the floor, rattling her bones.

"_Flagrante!_" Hermione cried, marking the door directly behind her with a fiery 'X.'

A moment later the wall began to spin, slowly at first, and then faster and faster until all the doors were a blur and Hermione felt dizzy just looking at them. Malfoy was swearing quietly behind her, and the stone floor was rumbling, and doors were flying before her eyes, but she could tell from the lingering trace of an orange blaze in her field of vision that her fiery cross was intact. Indeed, when the wall ground to a halt at last, the door five paces to her left still bore the fading mark of her spell.

"Great help that's going to be," Malfoy commented unhelpfully.

Hermione did not deign to acknowledge him. Instead she tried a tentative step forward, found that she was not doubled over in pain, and crossed the rest of the distance to the door quickly.

"_Alohamora potentem!_" she said confidently, tapping the door with her wand.

Nothing whatsoever happened.

"_Alohamora maxima!_" she tried.

Still nothing.

"Oh, come on!" Hermione grumbled, wracking her brain for another, more powerful incantation.

"Why don't you try just opening it?" Malfoy suggested sardonically.

Rolling her eyes, Hermione reached out, intending to give the door a sarcastic shove, only to find that it opened at once. And on the other side... she nearly fell to her knees in shock.

"What—?"

The Ministry had vanished. Or else, this door simply no longer led to it. Instead, a vast room overgrown with a lush forest stretched out before her, with an impossibly high ceiling that mimicked the evening sky. She could hear the hooting of owls, the scurrying of squirrels, even the wind rushing through the pines. Hermione whipped around to look at Malfoy, desperate to find out that this was some elaborate, tasteless prank. He had leaned back against the wall and slid down to the floor, and sat sprawled there with his hands clutching vainly at his wand.

"_What the hell is this?_" Hermione demanded, fighting the hysteria that was threatening to bubble up from her stomach.

Malfoy's tone was one of abject defeat. "An ambush. We're not getting out of here."

* * *

**A/N:** Quick updates galore! I'm just so excited to get to the point where these characters are forced to interact more. Cruel me. Thanks so much to reviewers, **Lupinara, IDanceToForget, MattsMarshMello.** I'm sorry the chapters are rather short, but I've found a pace and structure that will work well with the development of the plot and I think I'm going to stick to it. Cheers!


	5. Letters of Gold

**V – Letters of Gold**

"_Run."_

_An unearthly howl. Drawing nearer and nearer, a terrible and inhuman intelligence with a thirst for blood. Claws eager to rip into flesh, grinding against the stone floor._

_An arm raised feebly through the ash, clutching a wand._

"_Don't you dare—"_

_She could never truly make him listen._

* * *

Hermione tried every door, one after the other, enchanting each one with a burning 'X' to mark her progress. Each and every one revealed the same immensity of wilderness, with a star-strewn ceiling rather like the one at Hogwarts in the Great Hall, and a quilt of pines as far as the eye could see. Identical gilded prisons echoing with the cries of scurrying woodland creatures. She held out hope until the very last door, repeating a frantic mantra again and again. _The one after this, the next one will be the way out, the next one..._

When she had made it all the way around the room with no success, Hermione was finally forced to admit to herself that she was in dire straits. She told herself that she had been through much worse than this. She told herself to remain calm. She told herself that this was nothing compared with Voldemort.

Except that Voldemort had been operating outside the law. This was _institutionalized_ conspiracy. And she was facing it alone, without Ron and Harry to lend her strength.

Hysteria threatened to come to the surface once more, and Hermione rounded on Malfoy, directing all her frustrations at him. How in Merlin's name had she allowed him to lead her into this nightmare?

"Why did you do this?" she demanded. "What possible reason could you have for _trapping_ yourself here with _me?_"

Malfoy ignored her, still slumped against the wall with his head in his hands. She was reminded of the way he had sat with his family in the midst of the rubble after the battle at Hogwarts, haggard and defeated, simply waiting for the Aurors to come for him.

It was not a good enough excuse.

"Dammit, Malfoy, answer me! This is serious. We have got to get out of here, and you obviously know more about what's going on than I do, so get off your arse and _make yourself useful_ for once in your life!"

This finally seemed to get through to him, and he raised his head to glare at her with such unbridled hatred that she nearly flinched.

"You're wasting your breath," he told her, twirling his wand between his fingers.

"Malfoy, don't make me hex you, you're not worth a conduct reprimand. Now _start talking._"

He twirled his wand faster. "I didn't know I'd be trapped inside. I certainly didn't know you'd be in here with me, or I'd have hung myself before I—"

"You didn't know this would happen? Then why did you come in here?"

"To retrieve something."

"And did you?"

His nostrils flared. "Obviously not."

Praying for patience, Hermione ploughed on, "So why am I wasting my breath? There _has_ to be a way out of here."

"They'll have set it up so we can't get to it."

"They? That's what you always say. Who are they?"

"Whoever killed Chiswick."

"And you're in league with them?" said Hermione shrilly.

"Fuck you."

Hermione stared, taken aback. Malfoy seemed genuinely offended by her assumption.

"But they've got to be—I mean, they're Death Eaters, aren't they?" she said a little less certainly.

"Typical." Malfoy's wand twirled on, now nothing more than a blur. "The Death Eaters are finished, Granger. How the hell do you expect them to pull this off from their cells in Azkaban?"

"Then who?"

"_I—don't—know!_" The wand stilled. Malfoy stood, breathing heavily as if to try to calm himself. At last he said through gritted teeth, "I never got a name. No details."

"Are you joking? How stupid can you be—"

"You know, my eardrums have had about enough of your bitching."

Hermione balled her fists and practically growled in frustration. It was no good. Malfoy was going to make this difficult no matter what she did. Though she was loathe to in case he got any ideas, she stowed her wand back in her pocket as a kind of peace offering, to indicate her desire for reasonable discussion.

Her fingers grazed something cool and hard.

"Oh my God!" Hermione exclaimed, extricating a miraculous, gleaming Galleon and staring at it as though it were the key to ending world hunger. She could not believe her luck. It was, unmistakably, one of the old DA coins she had used to communicate meeting times and places under Umbridge's nose. If she had not accidentally put on her school robes that morning...

"Never seen a Galleon before?" drawled Malfoy. "I'm not surprised, given the way you hang around Weasley's house all the time. They're actually not that uncommon."

"Shut up, shut up, this is brilliant! Oh, thank Godric. This is perfect."

Malfoy actually looked bemused, as though he thought she might have gone round the bend. Hermione waved the coin in his face.

"This is an old token from Dumbledore's Army! It has a Protean charm on it. I can use it to communicate with someone outside."

Hermione pulled out her wand and tapped the coin, causing the numbers on its rim to contort themselves into words.

_Neville? Luna? Anyone? EMERGENCY, please answer. -HG_

She waited, hardly daring to breathe, for what felt like an eternity. Minutes trickled by, and not even Malfoy appeared disposed to break the unbearably tense silence. Just when Hermione was beginning to grow discouraged, the words twisted and formed a new message.

_Hermione? What's going on? Harry just owled me, panicking. DO NOT go in the Dept of Mysteries. –GW_

Ginny. Hermione frowned as Malfoy read the message over her shoulder. She had only been absent a few hours. Something must have happened if Harry already knew that she was missing. She tapped out a response so hastily her hands began to shake.

_Too late. Trapped with Malfoy. Get us out? _

"What are you implicating me for?" Malfoy hissed. "They don't need to know I'm here!"

"You're thinking about getting caught at a time like this? Do you want a rescue or not, Malfoy?"

His retort was interrupted by Ginny's reply.

_Harry's already been trying. Dept's empty. Where are you? Any danger?_

Hermione's spirits fell. If Harry had entered the Department and found it empty, then she and Malfoy must have been transported elsewhere somehow. Some secret wing, usually inaccessible. It would take ingenuity, and a considerable amount of time, to undo enchantments of that sort. She pondered her predicament for a moment, then came to a decision.

_No danger yet. Just a big room with a forest. Going to have a look around._

Ginny's reply was succinct and alarmed.

_Stay safe! We'll get you out._

"Going to have a look around?" Malfoy said sharply. "Are you mad? Like we're not in deep enough shit already..."

But Hermione was already pushing open one of the doors that led to the forest.

"We could be here for days waiting for them to find us," she replied.

"So?"

"So we haven't got any food, and I don't know about you, but I'd like to avoid starving. There might be food in the forest. There might also be another way out."

"Or it might go on for miles and you could get lost."

"Wenlock's Encapsulation theorem states that magic cannot extend the boundaries of an object from within by an area equal to more than that of the original multiplied by itself."

_Speak English, will you?_ Ron complained in her head, and Hermione opened her mouth to rephrase. But Malfoy was nodding impatiently.

"So this place can't be infinite," she went on. "And somewhere in here is the secret that got us in this mess in the first place. Something that was worth killing for. I don't intend to let this go without bringing those responsible to justice like they deserve."

Malfoy sneered. "Of course, perfect, know-it-all Granger gets to decide who _deserves_ justice. And while you go traipsing around the forest the Chosen One'll come get you and you won't give a fuck about leaving me to rot here."

_Of the two of us,_ Hermione thought fiercely, _who is more likely to try to save the other's life? Who's done it before?_

But she could not bring herself to say it. Churlish, petty. That was his way, not hers. Hermione shrugged.

"You can come with me or not, Malfoy, but I'm going."

He was at her side in a flash, throwing his arm out to prevent her from walking through the door. But as his shoulder bumped against the wall he winced and drew back, hissing out a harsh breath. Hermione looked at him curiously.

"What—"

"Nothing."

"What's wrong with your shoulder?"

"Drop it, Granger."

"But—"

He growled and pushed past her out the door. "Let's go, all right? Since you so clearly have a death wish, I'd hate to miss my chance to see it all go down."

After a moment of suspicion Hermione followed him, keeping her wand at the ready.

_An arm raised._

"_Don't you dare—"_

* * *

"Is it done?"

"It is. Your services will not be forgotten, Mrs Crowley."

A clinking of fat gold coins. A heavy satchel exchanging hands.

"Will she return?"

"She will not. It has been seen to."

"But there will be investigations. Harry Potter will—"

"There is no way in which she can be extricated."

A tense gaze. An insistent wringing of hands.

"Perhaps—"

"Potter is untouchable. He is too well-known, protected. That is the final word on the matter."

A stiff nod. Footfalls growing fainter and a slamming door.

A figure emerging from the shadows to join its companion.

"She may be a problem."

"It would seem so."

"She will have to be dealt with."

A tired sigh.

"Indeed."

* * *

They had been walking in unfriendly silence for nearly an hour, and all they had established was that the room was impossibly large. Hermione briefly placed a levitation charm on herself to rise above the treetops and scan the horizon, but she could see no wall in the distance, nothing to signal an end to the woods. She had already attempted to charm several branches and a large rock into Portkeys, despite the heavy penalties that came with unauthorized use of this form of transport, because by then she was willing to accept the consequences. Unsurprisingly, however, every item in the forest had availed itself mysteriously resistant to the _Portus_ spell, just as the forest itself was resistant to Disapparition. She was growing rather tired of striding through thick brambles and bushes, and though Malfoy kept a good ten feet between them as he walked she could hear his footfalls getting heavier as well.

The moon was not visible anywhere in the now inky night sky, so Hermione was not quite certain what time it was. At long last, however, she had cause to stop and rest her feet when she felt the DA coin burn hot in her palm and lifted it to see another message.

_Hermione. Something's happened. Ministry is bearing down, saying all is well. Stopping us from looking for you. –HP_

So Harry's efforts were being stalled. Hermione could not say that she was surprised, given the extent of the conspiracy she suspected was afoot. She replied at once.

_Don't get yourself arrested!_

Only a moment passed, and then:

_We'll get you out, Hermione._

"That was—" Hermione began, looking up at Malfoy, who had stopped to watch her.

"The Chosen One to the rescue, yeah?" he forestalled her.

Hermione rubbed her temples wearily. "You know, Malfoy, we might be caught here for some time. There's really no need to make this so unpleasant. If we're never going to get along, we might at least not be at each other's throats constantly."

Malfoy jutted out his jaw. Instead of leaving him pointier-faced than ever, as Hermione would once have expected, it accentuated the square angles his face had developed. In the gloom he looked somewhat threatening.

"We're not going to be allies, Granger," he said, enunciating each word with deadly precision. "You should really save yourself some time and get that through your head right now. We're not _in this together_. If I can get out of here with or without you, I will, and you'd better not get in my way."

"Good luck with that," she muttered.

Whether or not Malfoy had another derisive remark prepared, Hermione would not find out, because a moment later a bone-chilling screech sounded through the forest, rattling the trees and leaving a ringing in her ears. When it ended an eerie silence settled over the forest. There was not a rustle to be heard, as though all the woodland creatures had suddenly burrowed as far into the ground as they could reach in preparation for some terrible scourge.

Malfoy yelped and whipped out his wand, and Hermione followed suit. She very nearly tapped the coin again to say _Now there's danger!_ but thought better of it. If Harry thought she was in distress he would do something rash to come after her, he would get himself in trouble.

The oppressive silence stretched on, but Hermione knew, in the instinctive way she had developed while on the run, that something was coming. The hairs on the back of her neck were standing up and she could feel a ripple of fear thrumming through the air and her nerves were screaming, _screaming_—

There was a deafening thump somewhere in the distance, followed by the sound of a hundred wings flurrying away into the sky.

Without consulting one another, Hermione and Malfoy turned and ran.

* * *

**A/N:** Poor little Draco is being such a fairy princess. Don't worry, he'll sack up eventually. In the meantime buckets of thank you's to everyone who reviewed: **Preciousblue, LiesTempHer, Originals-Klaroline, yourxenium, roseberrygirl, Lindylou78, buttercup, IDanceToForget...** I shall offer you all this one time only virtual high five :)


	6. The Moonless Quarry

**VI – The Moonless Quarry**

_A frantic climb up a series of interminable stone steps, half running, half dragging. His body limp and cold in her arms. Eyes heavy-lidded, unseeing._

_A drawn-out cry from below. Fear and pain and terrible loneliness._

"_Help me!"_

_A glance down through the ash and debris. A precipitous moment of doubt._

"_Please!"_

* * *

They ran as though the Devil was on their heels, and did not quit, and continued to run until their lungs were on fire. Malfoy outstripped Hermione easily at first, sprinting ahead into the dense heart of the forest without a backwards glance. But she had grown painfully accustomed to running while in hiding with Harry. It was second nature to her now to ignore the screaming protests of her aching muscles. After several blind, scrambling minutes in which the sounds of heavy, inhuman footfalls slowly faded into the distance behind her, she caught up to Malfoy and tried not to feel too pleased at the look of incredulous panic on his face. And still they ran, just to be certain, just to rid themselves of the cold sweat on the back of their necks.

At last they broke into a clearing surrounded by enormous, jagged boulders rising like sentinels far above their heads. Hermione fell to her hands and knees on the bed of soft, flat rocks covering the ground, heaving in great lungfuls of air. Malfoy threw himself onto his back nearby, panting.

It was gone. It had to be. The creature, whatever it had been, had moved along, lost interest. They were all right.

Hermione noticed that Malfoy had gotten to his feet and was brushing off his robes, his hair shining pale silver in the faint starlight. He was glaring at her as though the whole situation was her fault. More to avoid this irritating sight than because she was really recovered, Hermione forced herself to stand and took in her surroundings.

"_Lumos,_" she murmured, aiming the beam of her wandlight at a nearby boulder. There was no moon in the sky, and she squinted as her eyes adjusted to the brightness of her spell.

She gasped.

Deep scratches had been carved viciously into the face of the rock. Worn smooth by the weathering of wind and time, they still presented a stomach-churning sight. Hermione did not like to think what sort of creature might possess enough strength to leave such a mark.

"Malfoy!" she called, running her fingers over the grooves in the rock.

There was no response. He continued to breathe raggedly behind her, and Hermione waited, running over Care of Magical Creatures textbooks and diagrams in her mind. A werewolf might have the aggression to make these scratches, but its claws would certainly not be strong enough...

"Malfoy, _look!_" she repeated when he continued to ignore her. "What do you think—" She broke off as she turned around and found Malfoy still glowering, his hands shaking in anger.

"Let's go for a walk in the forest and look around," he snarled at her. "_Great_ idea. Brilliant."

"What?" Hermione's arms dropped to her sides. Was he _serious?_

"While we're at it, why not invite a Chimera round for tea? Or better yet, see if there are any Dementors in the area you might like to get friendly with?"

"It was better than doing nothing!" Hermione protested.

Malfoy laughed derisively. "Not everyone is ready to wet themselves with excitment at the first chance to put their lives at risk. That's not bravery, it's stupidity!"

Hermione was ready to answer with a scathing _Is that what you tell yourself to sleep at night?_ But something stopped her. Her own voice echoed back to her through the years, unbidden, leaving her baffled and a little confused.

_Don't you think you have a bit of a—a—saving people thing?_ she had asked Harry in an attempt to make him rein in his reckless impulses. Because Harry had been unable, or unwilling, to understand that he was asking them all to risk their lives on a hunch, a mere _whim_. It was very simple: he would have done the same thing for any of them if the positions were reversed. He could not spare the time to consider that not everyone shared his ability to shelve their fear for a greater cause at a moment's notice.

Was Hermione becoming just as stubbornly callous about risk, as unwilling to forgive hesitation in others? She had spent nearly half her life careening behind Harry through one breathless calamity after another. It had simply not occurred to her as she had marched into the forest that Malfoy might not take the situation so much as a matter of course.

"We're all right," she said with forced calm. "It's gone, we'll be fine."

"Are you fucking brain damaged? By what definition is this _all right?_"

"We're not in any danger right now. And this is a good place to set up camp. It's sheltered—"

Malfoy was looking at her as though she had begun to speak Gobledygook.

"I am _not_ setting up camp with _you_. Get your head out of your arse, Granger, this isn't a camping trip, and I sure as hell don't need a chaperone."

"We'll be safer if we stick together." But would they? Hermione felt moderately confident that she could look out for herself, at least for a few nights. Malfoy was another matter entirely. But if he wanted to risk it alone for the sake of spite, that was his choice. She was not about to go traipsing after him insisting that they instate a buddy system.

Malfoy seemed to be of a similar opinion.

"Enjoy getting mauled by wolves," he said, turning on his heel and lighting his wand to illuminate a path out of the leaf-strewn quarry. Hermione watched him go, resisting the urge to yell words of caution.

_Not your problem,_ she told herself firmly.

Warily she began to transfigure rocks into cushions and blankets. Tomorrow she would look for food. Currently she was on the verge of collapsing from exhaustion.

Malfoy's steps echoed in her ears long after he had vanished into the darkness.

* * *

A burst of emerald flames. A head spinning vertiginously in the grate and stopping with a yelp.

"What the hell happened?"

"Ron, calm down—"

"Don't tell me to calm down, this is mad! How did it—how did she—?"

An impatient glare.

"It happened because you ditched her and went off to France, and she went off the rails and got herself into something way too deep!"

"Ginny, I don't think—"

"Don't defend him, Harry, you know it's true."

"I don't think it is though. Hermione was really onto something, the Ministry's attitude proves that. Kingsley says his hands are tied... By _who? _This is serious."

Crossed arms. Fingers drumming nervously against a desk.

"So what are we going to do about it?"

A grim smile.

"We're going to find out who's behind all of it."

"Harry—"

"Ginny, we _have_ to do _something._"

"No, I was going to say that I know exactly who we can get to help us."

* * *

For three days and nights Hermione trudged through an increasingly hostile forest, her stomach growing emptier and her patience thinner. She had found nothing to eat besides roots, mushrooms, and the occasional meager bushel of blackberries, and her attempts to wash by casting "_Aguamenti_" had caused her to sustain scratches from brambles in some rather unfortunate places. The whole situation was highly suspect. After nearly a year of living in a tent and cooking for a pair of irritable boys, she liked to think that she had developed very fair hunting and foraging skills. Here, however, she had yet to come across a single bird or hare which might be cooked into some semblance of a real meal. Not even a bloody _squirrel_. She could hear them scurrying at all hours of the night, but for some reason they melted away when she drew near.

By the third day, to say that she was in a towering temper would have been an understatement. The sun, the chirping of the birds, the wind in the trees... _everything_ was an affront to her senses.

What was more, despite her best efforts, she was beginning to give in to paranoia. Every time she fell into a comfortable rhythm, striding purposefully over fallen tree trunks and telling herself that this would be the day she found a way out, she became convinced that someone was keeping pace behind her. The echo of breaking twigs threatened to drive her mad.

Hermione attempted to soothe her frayed nerves by maintaining steady contact with Harry and Ginny and Ron—oh Merlin, _Ron_. The DA coins had never seen such foul language.

_Are you all right? Are you with Malfoy? If he does anything to you I swear I'll wring his fucking neck. –RW_

Hermione wanted to be touched by his concern, but she did not have the energy to offer him the constant reassurance he seemed to need. Especially, it seemed, where Malfoy was concerned.

_Still no sign of the git? Hang in there, Hermione, we're doing everything we can. –RW_

_How the hell did you end up in there with Malfoy, anyway? –RW_

Ginny's communications were a shade more heartening, though they offered her almost as much cause for exasperation.

_We have a plan. Harry just has to pull some strings to make it work. Stay safe. –GW_

Ginny remained mum on the particulars of said plan, which left Hermione wondering what kind of trouble Harry was undertaking to get himself into. By the fourth morning of her self-imposed sojourn in the heart of the forest she was too haggard to even bother responding to Luna Lovegood's messages warning her to beware of Cartwheeling Diligrouts—very common in secret Ministry compounds, apparently.

And something was following her.

_Nothing's there_, she kept reminding herself. _You're hearing things because you're tired._

But this constant refrain had lost almost all of its power. She could hear something lumbering distantly behind her, and judging by its irregular, lurching steps, it was not human. Hermione could not help but wonder whether the creature, whatever it was, had found and devoured Malfoy and was now coming after her, having developed a taste for blood. Or perhaps Malfoy was leading it to her in exchange for his own life.

_Don't be ridiculous._ She administered a good, hard mental slap to herself and concentrated on listening for any sounds that might signal an assailant was near. She moved her feet as lightly as possible, taking care not to disturb the ground.

_Crack!_

There was the distinct sound of a dry branch breaking under a foot. Or a paw. With claws waiting to tear into her. She was not being irrational, for Merlin's sake. She was in an enchanted forest communicating with her friends through moving letters on a gold coin! Stranger things happened every day.

Then Hermione stepped through a dense copse of trees and all thought of pursuing monsters flew momentarily out of her head as her jaw dropped and her eyes opened wide as Galleons.

A stream! She could see the alluring glimmer of rushing water some fifty yards ahead, beckoning to her with the promise of wonderful, _edible_ fish. Oh, and she could wash properly, and even use the stream as a landmark by which to find her way out. Streams had to lead somewhere, flow _into_ something.

Overjoyed as she had not been for days, even weeks, Hermione ran full tilt towards the stream, tearing off her shoes and socks on the way. When at last she reached it the water was as cool and enticing as she had imagined, and she splashed around with abandon for a few delicious moments. The stream was shallow, and she was submerged only a little past her ankles, but Hermione felt confident that she would at the very least be able to catch a minnow or two if she applied herself.

After having cast a quick "Scourgify" on her robes and dipped them into the stream to rinse them off, Hermione laid them on a nearby rock for safekeeping and sat on the edge of the riverbank in her old Hogwarts skirt and blouse, dipping her feet into the water. She pulled out the DA coin and pondered for a moment before tapping out a message.

_Found a river. This place may be enormous. Could have been transported outside London somehow?_

She waited for a response, happy to bask in the sun for a few carefree minutes. The enchanted ceiling was really very impressive, Hermione reflected. Almost better than the one at Hogwarts. She could feel the warmth of the sun on her arms and see clouds drifting lazily in the wind. And yet there was also the distinct outline of rafters, as in a warehouse or a gigantic barn.

If only she had _Hogwarts, A History_ on hand, she could have verified who had performed the enchantments on the Hogwarts ceiling. Not that it mattered much.

_Ministry is still insisting you've gone on a leave of absence. They're hiding something massive, I think. –HP_

_Yes, Harry,_ Hermione thought a little resentfully. She had come to that conclusion herself ages ago, but no one had been willing to listen then, convinced that her concerns were a form of maladjusted pining for Ron. Now was a little late to begin showing support for her theory. But then, she and Harry had always questioned one another's instincts—about Dumbledore, and Snape, and even Malfoy. Hermione had not believed Malfoy could be a Death Eater before it was too late.

It had just seemed so unlikely as to be impossible. She had thought she knew what Malfoy was all about. They had cultivated a strong mutual dislike, but she had grown up alongside him nonetheless. She had watched his bark avail itself much worse than his bite for years. They had shared Arithmancy and Ancient Runes classes where in the absence of Harry and Ron he had come over, if not civil, then at least distant enough that they could easily ignore one another. She had watched him gape incredulously at her at the Yule Ball and again in fifth year when she had pretended to burst into tears to stop Umbridge from torturing Harry. She had caught the fleeting look of dismay in his eyes on the latter occasion and thought, amidst all the chaos of her other concerns, _God, he's disappointed! He didn't think I'd break so easily..._

But she had been wrong about Malfoy. Hermione was seldom wrong, and it fascinated her as much as it stung her pride to find him so susceptible to the sway of the dark arts. A horrified, deeply sorrowful sort of fascination, for Harry and Dumbledore and Malfoy himself. In the end she supposed she, too, had been disappointed.

A second, much louder crack roused her from her reverie and Hermione shot to her feet like a bullet, brandishing her wand.

"Who's there?" she shouted, standing her ground.

A figure emerged from the tree line and her mouth fell open in horror.

Malfoy was swaying dangerously like a drunken sleepwalker, half leaning against a tree and half attempting to drag himself forward. His skin had taken on a grayish tinge and there were wide circles the deep purple of an unhealthy bruise under his eyes. His left arm was waving through the air as if to ward off invisible attackers, but his right hung limply at his side, apparently lifeless. His lips were dry and cracked and he was muttering soundlessly to himself, apparently unaware of the wildness of his appearance.

"Oh my God!" Hermione shrieked, running to support him as he pitched forward and nearly collapsed. His weight was too much for her, so she lowered him to the ground and rolled him onto his back, waving her hand frantically in front of his face to elicit a response. He blinked and his eyes flicked to her for a brief, terrifyingly lucid moment.

"Can't—Don't—remember," he croaked before subsiding into incoherent murmurs.

Heat was radiating from his skin, she could feel it without even touching him, and Hermione stared down at Malfoy, frozen in shock. She did not know what to do.

* * *

_MINISTRY EMPLOYEE DECEASED AFTER TRAGIC POTIONS ACCIDENT_

_Wakanda Crowley, 43, of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, was rushed to Saint Mungo's Hospital yesterday after a neighbor noticed her house was in flames and rushed inside to find Ms Crowley unconscious next to her cauldron. Saint Mungo's spokeswizards assert that every effort was made to revive the enthusiastic potioneer and mother of two. However we deeply regret to report that at ten o'clock that evening Ms Crowley was pronounced dead._

"_She was an amazing witch," says Crowley's eldest son Matthew from his Islington home. "I can't believe she's gone. She always did love to experiment. She'll be sadly missed."_

"_When are they reading the will?" adds her second son Linus._

_It is believed that Ms Crowley was attempting to develop a numbing agent to be combined with Skele-Gro, a breakthrough that would have revolutionized several branches of magical medicine. In her absence her Ministry duties will be overseen by new Undersecretary to the Department Head, Carlisle Belby._

_A memorial service will be held for Ms Crowley's family and friends on Sunday._

* * *

**A/N:** I always thought Hermione's refusal to see that Malfoy was up to something in HBP seemed a bit willfully naive. After all, she's the one who figured out Lupin was a werewolf. I think she has a touch of Dumbledore's Wanting-To-See-The-Best-In-People-itis. Many thanks again to all those who reviewed: **Insanegirl190, Generic-Pen-Names-R-Us, Preciousblue, Lupinara, Kou Shun'u, likelurking, IDanceToForget...** Cheers!


	7. The Wishing Well

**VII – The Wishing Well**

"_Help me!"_

_A precipitous moment of doubt interrupted by a deep, rumbling hum rising from the floor. Walls trembling, steps vibrating beneath her feet._

_A beginning and an end overlapping; intertwined._

"_Hermione! Fuck—HERMIONE!"_

_A heart-stopping, vertiginous leap into the void._

* * *

Hermione dragged Malfoy into the stream in the hopes that the water would cool his fever, her heart hammering a violent tattoo against her chest. She had known, she had just _known_ that something like this would happen if he went off on his own. She tried to remain focused on the task at hand rather than the sickening sound of Malfoy drawing labored, painful breaths. His eyes were closed and he was still muttering incoherently, occasionally letting out a frightening whimper and thrashing back and forth in the water. His right arm lay heavily at his side, apparently too weak to move with the rest of him.

When Hermione pulled back his sleeve to examine the damage she very nearly gagged. The skin from his shoulder to his elbow was swollen, colored a deep purplish-red. The veins in his forearm stood out in stark contrast to the deadly pallor of his skin, and his fist was clenched so tightly that she feared he might break his fingers. All definite signs of infection.

_Dittany. Murtlap. Medifever Potion._

None of the remedies known to her would be any help, as none of them were available. Hermione tried to run through the ingredients that comprised each one in her head, but her mind was a blur of fear. It was no use telling herself that this was Malfoy, that they had met before as warriors on a battlefield, that his choices were his own and he had brought this on himself. He was here now and she knew she would do everything in her power to save him.

_Pine bark may be used as a substitute for Bowtruckle eggs if no other alternative is available. Stew for eighteen minutes, stirring counterclockwise..._

Hermione allowed herself three seconds to compose herself, three deep breaths, and then set about gathering what few ingredients she could find in the vicinity. She conjured a copper pot to serve as a makeshift cauldron, filled it with water from the stream, and lit a hasty fire in a nest of twigs to bring the water to a boil. With only natural elements to hand, and not a single ingredient drawn from a magical creature, she doubted her makeshift remedy would have much potency. Nevertheless...

_Bring potion to a simmer and add three drops of pomegranate juice._

Blackberries were similar to pomegranates in acidity. Hermione pulled a handful of the dried up little fruits from her pocket and sliced them open with her wand, squeezing what few drops she managed to extract into the pot.

Malfoy gave a drawn-out cry of pain and thrashed more violently than ever in the river.

"_Permulcere,_" said Hermione, waving her wand in his direction. It was the best spell she knew for soothing fevers, but Malfoy showed no improvement whatsoever, continuing to whine and convulse.

"Come _on!_" she muttered when the potion showed no signs of reaching the sibilant hiss that signaled potency.

_Take it easy, Hermione!_ said Ron in her head, in that alarmed tone of voice he used when she got carried away with exam revision.

"Easy for you to say!" she retorted angrily. Oh, bollocks, she was slipping. When Harry had been ill and his chest melded to Slytherin's locket after they had visited Bathilda Bagshot's house she had begun to mutter to herself almost nonstop in an effort to ignore the icy grip of fear that had slithered into her bloodstream. But this was not Harry, she reminded herself. Harry was safe and sound.

She levitated the copper pot over to the stream, forced Malfoy's jaw open, and said, "This isn't going to be pleasant. Don't move."

She might have been a tree stump for all the notice he took. Gritting her teeth, Hermione lowered herself carefully with her knees pressing against Malfoy's chest and left arm so that he could not thrash up and down while she poured the contents of the cauldron down his throat. She waited until he swallowed and his breathing regained some semblance of normalcy, ten very long seconds, before pulling away and watching him. He had stopped muttering and seemed to have fallen asleep. He looked oddly serene, with his face unguarded, absent of the usual sneer of disdain that she had thought must be etched permanently into his features. The difference was striking: he had always had handsome features, but impossible to appreciate when marred by the ugliness of his contempt for everything and everyone he looked upon.

"_Locomotor,_" Hermione murmured, levitating him onto the riverbank and frowning. She was hesitant to leave him behind in case whatever had attacked him returned, but she needed to gather more supplies if she was to brew more of that meager potion. She settled for casting a quick set of the protective enchantments she had used on the tent with Harry and Ron, then set off northward at a quick trot.

Hermione's mind was a vortex of doubt. The panic of Malfoy's illness had brought up images of her OWL Potions revision notes, stacked neatly on her desk next to Charms and Transfiguration. And in the Charms column, clear as day in her own meticulous handwriting, a solution that had escaped her until now. She did not know how it had not occurred to her.

_The transmutative properties of Protean charms permit tracking spells to be placed upon objects without the constraint of physical proximity..._ Harry had gazed at her in blank bewilderment when she had lent him this section of her notes, but all it really came down to was that with one DA coin, another could be tracked.

She might not be able to charm a Portkey out, but Harry could arrange for transport to wherever she was, provided she kept the coin on her.

Except that then Harry, too, would be trapped here with her. She knew he would not hesitate for an instant. But whoever was at the head of this conspiracy was sure to want to use Harry for their own gains if they found out he was in their grasp. She could not allow him, or Ron or Ginny, to put themselves in that kind of danger.

_Still nothing,_ she wrote through the coin in response to Ron's anxious message of that morning. Guilt churned in the pit of her stomach, but this lie was not like the others. It was for their own good.

Hermione had been looking down at the coin, and did not notice the obstacle in front of her until she walked right into it, stubbing her toe and yelping in surprise. When she looked ahead her eyebrows flew up and she stared for several minutes, dumbfounded, at the first sign of human civilization she had seen in over three days.

It was a well. An ordinary Muggle well, by all appearances, but miraculous all the same. It had been hewn roughly from large chunks of limestone similar to those in the quarry she had slept in. An extremely frayed, ancient length of rope was heaped on the ground to her left, and Hermione wondered how long it could have sat there unused, waiting for someone to come along.

Hermione stood on tiptoe and peered into the inky, fathomless depths of the well.

* * *

A rowdy, bustling crowd clamoring for drinks and laughing merrily over smoky booths.

A quick scan through the room and an unpleasant grimace of recognition.

"Well, well, if it isn't the Hogwarts champion! It's been far too long!"

"Not long enough. Drop the act, you know why I'm here."

The snap of a handbag clasp and the scratch of a quill on paper. Surreptitious glances from nearby tables.

"I've been given to understand you have a proposition for me. I simply _can't wait_ to hear this one, I must say."

"You remember Hermione Granger, I'm sure?"

A sour smile. "I couldn't forget Little Miss Perfect if I tried."

"Well she's in trouble. She's vanished."

"That's hardly a story. No doubt she's off on some secret crusade to save the Goblins, or some such trifle..."

"It's House Elves, and no, she _isn't._"

"So what would you like me to do about it? Surely you don't expect—"

"I expect you to recognize the value of an opportunity."

A sudden wolfish grin. The gleam of a gold tooth.

"Oh, darling, you've got my attention now."

"What if I told you that in exchange for your help I might suddenly fancy myself in the market for a biographer?"

A quill snapped clean in half. A near devilish gaze of triumph.

"And what would you require of me in exchange?"

"I hear you've been gathering information for a story on Damocles Chiswick..."

* * *

She did not tell Malfoy about the well. By the time he woke from his delirium Hermione had spent a restless forty-eight hours paying many a frantic visit to the site of the Muggle edifice and ascertained, through a series of simple diagnostic spells, that it was imbued with a Consecration spell: it granted wishes in exchange for payment.

Hermione had nothing she was willing to offer up as payment. So instead she sat and watched Malfoy slowly sit up on the morning of her sixth day in the forest, bracing herself for whatever unpleasant remark he had prepared. She could not be bothered to care very much, in any case. She was simply relieved that he had not died on her watch and was now free to go put himself in harm's way however he saw fit. It was not her responsibility. _Not,_ she repeated adamantly to herself.

He looked around, dazed, until his gaze settled on her and his expression became unreadable. His arm had healed up and his bruises were now a faded yellow. Hermione was actually rather amazed at his recovery. Her potions must have been more effective than she had guessed, or else the illness had not been as serious as it had appeared. Malfoy looked exhausted and rather hollow-cheeked, but otherwise unscathed.

"What..." he began in a hoarse voice, sounding much more human than Hermione had ever heard him sound before.

"You've been ill," she said briskly. "You might be quite weak, I haven't been able to hunt up any real food. But I got some healing potions into your system."

He gaped at her, his lips framing words he apparently could not bring himself to say.

"What happened?" Hermione could not stop herself from asking. Her nights had been haunted by thoughts of snarling beasts with razor-sharp claws since Malfoy had stumbled up to her by the stream, and she was desperate to know what had attacked him.

He frowned, a hint of his old impatience resurfacing. "What? I... don't know. What do you mean?"

"You were half a corpse, Malfoy. Your arm was mangled. You were ranting and raving for days. Not symptoms consistent with any wizarding illness I know of. Surely something attacked you?"

"Well, nothing did," he snapped, lifting up his sleeve to examine his arm and wincing. All that remained of the gruesome swelling was a circle of discoloration around what looked like a small puncture wound on his shoulder.

Hermione _tskd_ impatiently. "Come on, now, of course it did. You're telling me you got into that state from a few days of roughing it in the woods? I knew you grew up pampered, Malfoy, but—"

"What the hell business is it of yours?" he exclaimed, fighting to stand up and swaying a little on the spot. With the light of the sun throwing the sharp angles of his face into stark relief he looked malnourished, practically starved. Hermione glared at him, incredulous.

"I just spent two days healing you, didn't I? I have a right to know what happened to you so I can defend myself if it happens to me."

"Are you—I—What the fuck is _wrong_ with you?" With that he balled his fists and turned to leave. Hermione watched him go, too incredulous to say anything. His steps were uncertain and he was limping slightly with exhaustion, but he looked fiercely determined to put as much distance as possible between himself and Hermione.

Then, twenty paces or so into the woods, he turned on his heel and strode back until he was directly in front of her, livid and breathing heavily.

"Do you lot just enjoy fucking with my head?" he growled. "You want me in your debt, is that it Granger? Well you can forget it—"

"Malfoy!" Hermione protested, fighting the urge to laugh, because she was tired and lost and his bald-faced ingratitude was just so ridiculous. "_Really._ You don't owe me anything. I didn't help you because I want anything in return."

His eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"And not that it matters to me one way or the other," she lied, taking advantage of his momentary silence, "but I doubt you'll make it far on your own. You're on the verge of starvation. We've been here almost three days and nothing's attacked us yet, so I'll be staying here a while longer, until I can catch some fish. If you want to stay, you're going to have to stop biting my head off every chance you get. It's your choice."

Malfoy merely stood there, perhaps rendered mute by outrage, or else simply too stubborn to admit that she was right. She watched his shoulders rise and fall as his breathing steadied, and nodded.

"I'll make more potion," she said.

_A heart-stopping leap into the void._

* * *

"Granger."

"Hmm?" Hermione looked up, a little disoriented, to see Malfoy standing in front of her looking vaguely confrontational. She sighed. She had been trying to recite the qualitative subsets of the twelve uses for dragon's blood to help ease herself into sleep, and now she would have to start again from the beginning.

"Could you..." He cleared his throat and tried for a more indifferent tone. "I mean, would it be possible to get a message to... _anyone_ with that coin?"

Hermione was glad that the darkness hid her wry smile. She had been wondering when he would come out and ask. Men really had an inordinate amount of pride—or perhaps Malfoy in particular.

"I sent a message to Harry four days ago," she informed him calmly. "He owled your mother. Your family knows you're safe."

She chanced a glance upward and saw him looking at her intently, his eyes glowing steely in the gloom. It was impossible to read his expression. At last he gave a curt nod and returned to the little camp he had established for himself on the opposite side of the stream, just far enough that they were not really in view of one another. And Hermione lay back on her transfigured pillows, trying to ignore the painful growling of her stomach.

Her attempts at fishing had been woefully unsuccessful. Hermione could not understand it. Harry had taught her the trick to catching fish ages ago. There was really nothing to it: it was all in the wrists, a swift flick and a sure hand. But no fish appeared, no matter how many hours she spent crouched over the stream, waiting. She did not even have the opportunity to try at a minnow or two. This was all the more infuriating because by the next morning Hermione came to realize that Malfoy had had no difficulty catching food of his own. He had built a small campfire a few feet from the stream, and the smell of fish frying over crackling flames made her stomach clench painfully. He had caught _so many!_ It was simply absurd; she could not fathom how he had done it.

As the sun rose in a steady arc through the enchanted sky Hermione found herself unable to look away from the remnants of Malfoy's feast for long. He had not even eaten all of it! A whole fish remained on the lopsided plate he had transfigured from a pile of rocks. It had long since gone cold but even so, the sight made her mouth water. At last she could stand it no longer.

"Malfoy?" she called. He was sitting some yards away, magically altering sections of his robes so that they were better suited to trekking through the woods. He did not answer, but stopped moving to acknowledge that he had heard.

"You, er, haven't finished your fish."

"I wasn't hungry."

"Well... would you mind if I ate it, then?"

He looked over his shoulder and rolled his eyes at her.

"Free fucking country, Granger."

Working hard to hide her relief, Hermione practically dove to devour the contents of the plate, wondering why he had caught an entire fish too many if he'd had no intention of eating it.

The next day Malfoy found the well.

Hermione expected him to be angry at her for keeping it from him, or at least to offer some scathing insinuation as to her mental state. Instead he sneered and said, "You've been holding out, Granger. Didn't think you had it in you."

"I didn't think you'd be interested in a Muggle well," she offered rather lamely, and Malfoy's sneer grew.

"Nice try, Granger. This is a Consecration Well. And I suspect you knew that, didn't you?"

_Damn,_ thought Hermione. She had not suspected he had ever paid attention in History of Magic.

"I didn't think there were many of these left," she said, ignoring his question. "Let alone that we'd find one here. Wizards stopped building them shortly after 1692, when Muggles became convinced they could grant wishes. Of course, the Muggles weren't wrong..."

"Spare me the history lesson. That shit might get Weasley hot and bothered, but I've got better things to do with my time." Malfoy gave her a pointed look, his eyes narrowing maliciously. "So what'll it be?"

"What do you mean?" said Hermione, though she thought she knew.

"I doubt this is here by accident. These wells grant wishes in exchange for tribute. Valuable magical objects."

Hermione pursed her lips. "I don't suppose you're willing to throw in your wand to give it a try?"

He returned her shrewd look. "Are you?"

Hermione heaved a deep inward sigh, resigning herself to another sleepless night. If Malfoy was going to try to duel her for her wand, she would be ready for him.

* * *

**A/N:** Ah, the subtle beginnings of UST. Always a joy. Much love to all who reviewed: **IDanceToForget, yourxenium, Kou Shun'u, Lupinara, buttercup...**


	8. Consecrated Waters

**VIII – Consecrated Waters**

_A frantic wave of her wand, bellowing spells an inch from the ground. An abrupt halt._

_Nothing to offer purchase—no preparation. A frantic oath from above._

"_What can I do?"_

_Warm, ravenous breath in her ear._

* * *

Hermione finally fell asleep just before sunrise, with her fingers wrapped so tightly around her wand she feared it might merge with her hand. When she awoke the sun was already midway across the sky and she could smell leftover fried fish sitting on a plate by Malfoy's campfire. Malfoy himself was nowhere to be seen.

She experienced a moment of panic in which she was certain that he had gone to the well, before remembering that her wand was firmly in her grip.

Her stomach growled and Hermione eyed the fish. Was it possible that Malfoy had noticed how famished she was and left extra food out on purpose twice in a row? Hermione was so engrossed in the possibility that she tripped on a jutting rock and fell face first into the stream.

"Graceful as ever, Granger."

The snide voice made Hermione want to swear violently. Biting her lip, she stood and saw Malfoy leaning against a tree, watching her with just the faintest trace of amusement. A cold breeze blew through the clearing and she was suddenly, acutely aware that she had nothing on underneath her nightgown but her stockings. She had transfigured her white cotton blouse to fall to her knees and set aside the rest to wash in the morning, thinking that Malfoy slept too far away to notice. Now the fabric of her makeshift nightgown was sopping wet and plastered to her skin. To her consternation, Malfoy's eyes trailed all the way up her body, lingering for a moment before his mouth twisted into a sarcastic smile.

"Christ, cover up, would you?" he shot at her, setting his campfire alight once more with a sweep of his wand. "Going to give me nightmares..."

Turning her back on him to avoid the flush creeping up her neck, Hermione summoned her robes and quickly threw them on over her elongated blouse, casting a drying charm to stop the fabric from... _sticking_ so tightly to her skin.

"Where have you been?" she asked Malfoy, hoping to divert attention from herself.

She heard a snort, followed by something about _none of your fucking business_, and then he said, "See for yourself."

He was looking in the direction of the well. Hermione considered him suspiciously, then gasped.

"You threw something in!"

Malfoy raised his right arm to reveal the cuff of his sleeve, half undone. One of his glimmering silver cufflinks, fashioned in the shape of a serpent wrapped around the Malfoy family crest, was missing.

"Your _cufflinks_ are charmed? How?"

He paused pointedly. "They're enchanted to detect Mudbloods."

Hermione gave a strangled noise and gaped at him, her jaw clenching.

"You asked, Granger."

"And... And you didn't think to tell me about this? You let me think the only available option was one of our wands?"

He shrugged. "Nice to have some suspense."

Averting her eyes to avoid giving in to the impulse to throttle him, Hermione ran in the direction of the well. The moment she arrived she felt the earth squelch against her bare feet and noticed the waterlogged state of the weeds surrounding the stone structure. Malfoy, who had followed behind her, stayed several paces away so as not to soil his expensive shoes.

"It overflowed when you put the cufflink in?"

"No," Malfoy snapped. "I thought about how much longer I'd have to spend answering your stupid questions and had a good cry that flooded the forest."

But Hermione was not listening. Because a few feet from the well was a bushel that had certainly not been there before. It seemed to have sprung up overnight in the wake of the flooding. And it bore the most succulent, delectable looking fruit she had ever seen. Large, juicy red bunches that resembled salmonberries but promised to be a hundred times more appetizing. She had never wanted anything more in her life than to bite down and taste—

_Hermione!_ Harry's voice warned in her head, alarmed. Hermione jumped in shock and realized that she had been extending her hand, moments from plucking one of the fruits.

"Feel it too, do you?" said Malfoy, sounding much too pleased by her moment of weakness.

"You could have warned me!"

"I could have." Malfoy nodded. "But it was much more satisfying this way."

The berries must have carried an extremely powerful enchantment to capture her attention so thoroughly from afar. Even now Hermione was only half paying attention to Malfoy, her mind screaming at her to devour the berries.

"What in Merlin's name did you wish for?" she asked, tearing her eyes away from the berries with great difficulty. There was an ache in her chest. Her mouth was watering.

"What do you think? I wished to get the hell out of here."

"And those berries appeared? What, are we supposed to believe if we eat them they'll lead us out? That's—"

"Bullshit," Malfoy finished succinctly. "Another trap, obviously. Damn tempting, though."

"You didn't eat any, did you?" she asked a little hysterically.

"Do you think I'm a fucking moron?"

Hermione smiled ruefully and Malfoy's eyes narrowed.

"Good luck catching your own fish, Granger," he muttered, leaving her standing there trying to ignore the implacable allure of the berries.

* * *

"Why, Narcissa! It has been far too long—"

"Enough. I am not here for false airs."

A suspicious glance around at dank dungeon walls and worn velvet tapestries. A hand clenched surreptitiously around a wand.

"I was merely... Might I inquire as to the reason for your most welcome visit, Narcissa?"

"To you I am Madame Malfoy, and I will thank you not to forget it."

"Of course, Madame Malfoy. Forgive my impertinence."

A nearly imperceptible shudder.

"My son is missing. I suspect Harry Potter's Mudblood, the one the Ministry has been adulating all these months, is behind it."

"That is most distressing news!"

"I had hoped you would think so."

"I'm afraid I don't quite follow your meaning."

A cold smile. Ill-intentioned.

"I trust you have not forgotten what my son did for you during the war?"

"Of—Of course not."

"Then I expect you will find it in your heart to assist me in ensuring his safe recovery."

A panic-laden silence. Eyes darting to and fro, unable to spot a means of escape.

"I... will do anything I can."

* * *

Hermione had gone for a run through the woods. It was her second in the last twenty-four hours. But all her attempts to keep her thoughts from straying to the berries were in vain. Exhausted, panting, with her lungs on fire, all she could think of was the desperate hunger that had consumed her since she had set eyes on them. She wondered if Malfoy was going through the same torment.

For the first time she could fully appreciate the challenge Harry had faced in his Occlumency lessons with Snape. She had always felt mildly impatient with Harry's complaints that the subject was too difficult, certain that if he simply applied himself he would get the hang of it. The same ought to have applied to her, here and now. But how was she supposed to simply apply herself to ignoring the berries when they popped into her head unprovoked every ten seconds? Hermione could not recall ever having lost control of her own thoughts so thoroughly. It was maddening.

Perhaps the berries would not hurt her. Perhaps there would be no harm in simply trying...

_Snap out of it!_ said Harry sternly in her head.

Right. Absolute focus was essential. There were plenty of other things to think about. Like the fact that she had yet to catch a single fish, or that she had to think of moving on to another part of the forest soon, or Malfoy standing half naked in the river...

Malfoy!

Hermione stopped short on the edge of the tree line and stared, dumbfounded, at the impossibly bizarre sight of Malfoy bathing in the stream. God, he must have thought she was out foraging for food. He had charmed a folded sheet to levitate in mid-air at his side, but she had looped back around to their camp on her run and was standing on the other side of the sheet. And for a moment, before her mind could catch up to her, she was mesmerized.

Water was cascading down his chest and over his stomach. He had stripped down to his pants, and Hermione could safely say that Draco Malfoy in his underwear was not on the list of things she had ever thought to encounter in her life. He was lean and pale and undeniably attractive, in an objective way, but that was not what caught her attention.

The mark on his left arm was faded and scarred. A gruesome distortion of a skull with a serpent for a tongue, pulled taut across his skin. And Malfoy... It was clear from the way he washed his arm gingerly, and avoided looking at it, that he did not want to have to look at his Dark Mark.

She left before he could catch her looking. Lord knew he would never let her live _that_ down.

That night Hermione dreamt she was back at Hogwarts, sitting in the prefects' compartment at the beginning of sixth year and wondering in spite of herself where Malfoy had got to. Harry was right; it was not like him to forgo the chance to abuse his privilege. But she had refused, categorically, to believe that he could be a Death Eater. It was absurd, patently ludicrous. Once, when they were eleven, before she had known just what a prat he could be, she had crossed paths with him on Platform nine and three quarters and watched him bid his parents an earnest, affectionate farewell. His mother had been tearful and he had been attempting to play the blustering, unaffected child, but there had been genuine bereavement in his eyes. How could she reconcile that memory with the mark on his arm?

Then the dream changed and she was walking through the forest, towards the well, closer and closer and closer. And there were the berries, hers for the taking, hers alone. Her fingers were tingling in anticipation. A faint voice was crying out in the back of her mind for her to stop, but it was too weak, she could not remember who it belonged to. Nothing could stop her now.

Hermione stepped on a jagged rock and her eyes flew open as she hissed in pain, startled awake by the throbbing in her foot. She had been sleepwalking. Edging her way unconsciously towards the source of her obsession. She was standing right in front of the bushel by the well, her fingers tightening around one of the perfect red berries.

She dropped the berry and pulled her hand away is if burned.

"No, no, no, no," she moaned, backing away. She had tried her best to close her mind. How was she to know that she would become prone to somnambulism?

It was time to swallow her pride and ask Harry for help. She would not tell him that it was possible to enchant a Portkey to find her, never that, but she could ask him to give her pointers about Occlumency.

Hermione reached into her pocket for the DA coin and her fingers groped at nothing but emptiness. Frowning, she turned out her pocket. Nothing. She delved into all her other pockets, then, panicking, returned to ransack her camp, but it was nowhere to be found. In an instant she understood.

"MALFOY!" Hermione shrieked at the top of her voice. She heard him trip and curse under his breath on the way back to his camp, and ran after him with her wand drawn. He had just slipped on his trousers and begun to button up his shirt when Hermione seized him by the collar.

"_Tell me_ you didn't steal my coin and throw it into the well!" she shouted, sparks shooting from the end of her wand in her distress.

"Easy, Granger."

"You did! What the _hell_ were you thinking?"

He pried her hands away from his chest and made a great show of wiping off his skin with his sleeve where she had touched him.

"I was _thinking_, Granger, that if you were dim enough to believe in magic cufflinks you deserved to—"

"Shut up, shut up! Do you have any idea what you've done?"

"I've tried to find a way out of this hellhole, that's what I've done! Your precious little gang already know where you are, there was no point in you having that coin beyond sending dirty messages to Weasley—"

"The coin was a last resort, you—absolute—_prat!_ It could have allowed Harry to link a Portkey to us, if things went really bad. Now we've lost that option because you... God, you were too selfish to even..."

Malfoy had stepped right up to her once more, incensed. "Are you fucking kidding me? You had a way to get help to us all along and you didn't want to _share_ that information?"

"I couldn't run the risk of luring Harry into this. Whoever trapped us might have tried to use him."

"You think I give a _fuck_—"

"Well it doesn't matter now, does it?"

Sparks flew from her wand again and Malfoy eyed it with some apprehension.

"Would you rather I had taken your wand?" he asked, his done dripping with false bravado.

"As if you could get your hands on my wand." Hermione grimaced. "How did you even get the coin? Did you—Oh, you... you went into my pockets while I was _sleeping!_"

"Fuck's sake, I was just after the coin! I'm not _that_ hard up for a shag."

That was it. Something in Hermione snapped, and no amount of deeply ingrained predisposition to caution could stop her. Dispensing with magic entirely, she leapt at Malfoy, determined to scratch out his eyes with her bare hands. Unfortunately he anticipated her and stepped to the side so that she overbalanced and fell forward. Growling in frustration, Hermione threw her arm out and seized Malfoy by the front of his shirt, pulling him down with her.

She landed painfully on her side and rolled over at once so that she could pin him down. He was stronger, so she used her legs to press his arms against the ground and pointed her wand at his throat.

"Are you going to off me now, Granger?" Malfoy spat, his voice thick with fear and loathing. "What would Potter say?"

"Shut up—_Argh!_"

Hermione shrieked as Malfoy gave a great lurch to the side and freed his right arm, which he swung up to shove her off himself. She lunged for his legs as he scrambled up to run away, but she missed. Cursing under her breath, Hermione jumped up and chased Malfoy through the trees, ignoring the branches that scratched at her face, until she was close enough to pull him back by his collar.

They collapsed in a heap, kicking and struggling, and Malfoy ended up on top, holding her down and breathing heavily. Hermione felt an electric chill race down her spine, the same as when she used to stray near the borders of the protective enchantments surrounding the Burrow. She redoubled her efforts to get free, attempting to knee Malfoy in the stomach and missing by millimeters.

"Shit, Granger, don't make me hit a girl," Malfoy growled, but Hermione ignored him.

"Do you feel that?" she asked, attempting to squirm out from under him.

Malfoy gave her an odd look, at once intent and defiant, and Hermione turned her head to look up at a structure that was casting a shadow over them. It was not a tree.

They had crossed some sort of boundary without realizing it, and were now sprawled on the ground at the front door of a small wooden cottage.

* * *

**A/N:** Thanks a bunch to reviewers, **Preciousblue, Moriarsh, Originals-Klaroline, IDanceToForget, likelurking, Lupinara...** Gosh, this was fun. I love it when Hermione gets a little unhinged. Until next time, cheers!


	9. Midnight Rain

**IX – Midnight Rain**

"_What can I do?"_

_Ravenous breath in her ear, making her skin crawl. A string of desperate pleas._

_Disbelief. She is lost. She cannot accept what is being said._

"_Impossible."_

_A blinding flash of memories, an assault. Bruises and thrashing. A distinctive wound._

"_No..."_

* * *

Hermione sat on a roughly hewn wooden chair, pouring a generous measure of mead from a grimy bottle into a chipped clay mug. The kitchen cottage was coated in a clear inch of dust and the cabinets were empty. The tiny window frames were hung with cobwebs and she was fairly certain that a family of wolf spiders was nesting in the cracks in the table. She had searched the place from top to bottom and found nothing special about it, no dark curses or secret passageways. In some monumental cosmic joke, however, she had found several bottles of oak matured mead stashed behind a sac of spoiled rice at the bottom of the pantry. She supposed that it was better than nothing, though not by a very wide margin.

Grimacing, Hermione tossed the mead back and poured herself another glass.

Footsteps echoed from the vestibule and Malfoy appeared in the kitchen. Hermione's hand was still aching from their struggle: she had landed a few good punches. She ignored him, downing her second glass and pouring out a third. Oh, this was not going to be pleasant. She was already feeling lightheaded.

"Never knew you were such a lush, Granger. Did life with Weasley finally push you over the edge?"

"Go away, Malfoy."

Bruises were blooming across her knuckles, but she had also suffered a cut lip when he had attempted to shove her away. She was still livid with him, but she was even more furious with herself for losing control.

Instead of leaving Malfoy opened the pantry and seized a flagon of mead, taking a swig straight out of the bottle.

"You can't drink that upstairs?" Hermione asked.

"No, I don't think so. You've proven you're pretty well unhinged, and I don't intend to let you down everything there is to drink before I can get at it. I have as much of a right to addle my brains as you after the shit I've been through in this forest."

Hermione threw him a dirty look. "This isn't to addle my brain. I'm nearing starvation, and mead is incredibly high on calories. In case you hadn't noticed, there's nothing else to eat here."

She drank her third glass gingerly, swallowing with difficulty, and Malfoy's eyebrows drew together.

"How many of those have you had?" he asked.

"A few, and I intend to have many more, so I'd appreciate some solitude."

For a moment Malfoy looked as though he was going to offer some warning, but then he smirked and shrugged.

"Good luck in the morning," he muttered. He stood to leave, taking the flagon with him, and Hermione bit her lip.

"Watch out for the, er, the..." She frowned. Malfoy stopped in the doorway and waited, his smirk growing wider. Damn, damn, damn, was she slurring her words already? Well, there was nothing for it. She needed all the energy she could get, no matter the consequences. "Watch out for the berries," she managed.

To her surprise Malfoy's smirk vanished and he looked suddenly irritated. He returned to the kitchen and drew up a chair.

"I think you're the one who needs to watch it," he snapped, unconsciously massaging his ribs where she had kicked him. "Christ, you really don't know what you're doing, do you? You need to pace yourself. Calories are no good to you if you vomit them all up."

"I'm moving on tomorrow, Malfoy. I..." Hermione sighed and rubbed her eyes. Her hands felt heavy and clumsy as she poured another glassful of mead. "I've had enough of this forest, I need to get out of here. I've missed a week of work, I'm so terribly behind—"

"You're worried about your fucking job?"

"And before I go I'm going to get what nutrition I can, even if I hate myself for it later. Surviving isn't always pleasant or _pretty_—"

"Oh, and she's melodramatic, too—"

"So if you wouldn't mind _leaving me alone_..."

"So you can eat all the fucking berries in a drunken haze? Who knows what the hell happens when you do that?"

"I don't need a babysitter."

Malfoy took a resigned drink from his flagon. "The fuck you don't."

* * *

_Harry,_

_A little digging goes a long way. As per your request, the fruits of my labour: Damocles Chiswick's neighbour, a Mrs Tamara Pankhurst, is willing to testify before the Wizengamot that Chiswick had been receiving visitors to whom he was presumably passing information for months prior to his sacking._

_The old bat is lying through her teeth. I have it from a reliable source that she was godmother to the rat you spoke of, Belby._

_I'll spare your precious sensibilities the sordid details of how I came about this information. Sufficed to say that Belby definitely dealt Chiswick the old death blow. In career terms, of course. I believe Chiswick is still alive, though he hasn't been seen in over a fortnight. His house hasn't been stripped down as it would have been in case of a professional hit._

_More importantly, on the last day anyone can remember seeing him, Chiswick's old desk at the Ministry was ransacked and someone dropped a picture of his son on the floor, along with a ticket stub for the Muggle metro: the contents of a pocket for the day, possibly._

_Now, my hunch—bear with me—is that Chiswick may have gone to the Department of Mysteries to settle matters himself once and for all. Let us consider the possibility that Chiswick may be the in the Department at this very moment._

_More soon,_

_Rita._

* * *

"It's raining," Hermione observed, stumbling across the kitchen floor to take another flagon from the pantry and glancing out the window. Magical lightning and enchanted thunder rent the sky.

"Brilliant insight," Malfoy grumbled, sounding bad-tempered. He was far more composed than Hermione had expected, considering that his flagon was nearly empty. But Hermione had other concerns.

"What if the rain washes away the berries?" she asked, suddenly filled with dread.

_The berries, the berries, the berries..._

"Head in the game, Granger," Malfoy snapped, summoning a new flagon with a flick of his wand. His aim was slightly off and the flagon smashed against the wall instead. Perhaps he was not so very composed after all. Despite her best efforts Hermione burst out laughing. Suddenly her chair seemed very far away, so she slid down the wall instead and slumped against the floor.

"What?" Malfoy snapped, rising to walk over to the pantry himself and glaring down at her.

"... Trying to be all Pureblooded, summoning things," said Hermione between chuckles. "You have mead on your shoes."

Her mind was not doing its job; it was refusing to catch her thoughts before they slipped off her tongue.

"When we get out of here, I'm going to make you regret this shit," he replied, picking up the last flagon. "I'm going to round up all the fucking House Elves in the country and make them scrub my floors until their hands are raw."

"That's an awful thing to say."

"You're not the most uplifting company."

"If you hadn't gotten rid of my coin you could have had others to talk to." Hermione frowned. She felt queasy. "Now Ron's going to panic. He's going to think I don't want to talk to him anymore, or something like that."

"Your soap opera of a love life can't be that dramatic, Granger. Get over yourself."

"No, Ron always assumes the worst when I'm involved," she insisted. She did not want to blurt these things to Malfoy, of all people, but she was so distracted, her attention pulled in all directions.

_The berries..._

Malfoy was staring at her, she realized. She was very warm, another unpleasant realization. The room was swaying. This was awful. She could not fathom why people did this for _fun_.

"Satisfy my curiosity, Granger," he said at last in an oddly rigid tone. "Since I've got nothing better to do than sit here and listen to you moan about your pathetic life... What is it about Weasley? The gaping stare, the mediocre Quidditch skills? Does he make you feel cleverer by comparison?"

Hermione's thoughts were sluggish, but his words prompted a sudden influx of memories. The way Ron would always beat her at chess, even though by all rights, by all logic, she ought to have won. The way he forced her to take a step back and clear her head when exam revision was making her manic. The way he sometimes looked at her when he thought she could not see, and the way his ears flushed a fiery red when she caught him. The way he always stepped in front of her protectively during battles.

"I was in love with him," she said honestly.

"_Was?_"

Malfoy had slumped down across from her, she suddenly noticed, and his eyes were a little unfocused. Or perhaps _she_ simply could not focus well enough to see him properly.

She shrugged. "I'll always love him. But the end of the war threw everything off balance." She drained the last of her mug and shuddered. "This is terrible. I feel completely numb. Why do people do this?"

"To cope with swots like you." For some reason he sneered. His words were jumbling together now. Hermione felt a satisfaction quite disproportionate to the situation at the thought that he was not impervious to the mead's effects. She had been coming off as quite ridiculous.

"You haven't seen me all year until a few weeks ago," she pointed out, proud of her reasoning. "Why are you so practiced at it?"

"Question period's over," Malfoy muttered, closing his eyes and tilting his head back to rest it against the wall. In all his dishevelment he looked strangely perfect, as though his hair was meant to fall haphazardly into his eyes and his clothing had been made to look ruffled. The contrast to how he had looked at Hogwarts was startling. Hermione felt a mad urge to reach out and run her fingers over the unshaven line of his jaw, just to see if it was real...

She checked herself. She was not _that_ far gone, for Godric's sake. She was still in control of her faculties. She could stop herself from jumping up and running into the rain to taste the berries.

"Granger."

Hermione jumped and looked back at Malfoy. His eyes were still closed.

"What?"

"Sit down. If you go after those berries I'll wring your fucking neck."

God, she _had_ been in the process of standing up! Mortified, Hermione fell back against the wall and aimed a glare at Malfoy, wondering how he had become so adept at controlling his impulses.

"Occlumency, Granger," he said before she could ask. How in Merlin's name was he doing that? "You live with the Dark Lord, you learn to control your thoughts damn quickly, or you die."

Hermione stared at him, blinking rapidly.

"You could stand to learn a bit of self-control," Malfoy went on, slurring his words and refilling his flagon with a muttered spell. "Don't tell me there's a subject the greatest Know-It-All of the age hasn't mastered?"

_Not everyone can seal away their conscience so easily_, Hermione thought, stung, because she _had_ been trying to develop skills as an Occlumens and failing rather miserably. Malfoy's eyes snapped open and he stared at her with startling venom, and it struck Hermione, to her horror, that she had spoken out loud.

"I'm sorry," she breathed. She wasn't, not entirely, but she could not stand the look in his eyes.

He leaned his head back against the wall, turned away, and said nothing.

* * *

A discreet knock. A drawn-out pause, followed by the click of a lock and a sliver of light.

"Yes?"

"I have some information that might be of interest."

"You have the wrong address. This is a private residence."

"No—Please!"

A foot stuck desperately in a doorway. An eyebrow raised dangerously.

"I am in contact with a buyer who is interested in the product your group has been developing—"

"You are mistaken. There is no product."

"Of course not, of course not. But if there were... You see, this buyer is quite adamant."

Eyes shifting nervously. A slice of light expanding as a door opens.

"And who might this buyer be?"

"They wish to remain anonymous, you understand."

A dark chuckle.

"Oh, perfectly. You may tell this mystery buyer that when they are ready to treat with us they may come themselves. A real wizard does not cower in the shadows."

"I... see."

"My regards to your employer."

A door swung shut. An alleyway once more bathed in darkness.

A snide, bitter comment aimed quietly at the doorway.

"Narcissa Malfoy sends her regards as well, _sir_."

Footsteps echoing away into the night.

* * *

She was probably dreaming, Hermione thought. That had to be it. The world had taken on the intangible, floaty quality of dreams, and she could not feel her fingers, and her hair was plastered to her forehead. Her clothes were soaking wet. She could not remember how they had gotten that way.

_You could stand to learn a bit of self-control._

Hermione frowned. Had Harry told her that? No, that was not right. With a herculean effort she concentrated, and remembered how her hair had come to be dripping rivulets of water onto the kitchen floor.

She had been running in the darkness, another body nearby, bumping into hers occasionally. Malfoy. Yes, and then she had found something, something she had been searching for desperately. Some sort of fruit. There was a sweet, slightly metallic taste lingering on her lips. And then, somehow, she had gotten back inside the cottage. Malfoy was sprawled on the floor at her side, his eyes closed, his breathing even. His robes, too, were soaked through.

What a strange dream.

Hermione's eyelids felt heavy as lead. Falling asleep while already dreaming, now, that was bizarre. Stifling a deep yawn, she curled up on the packed dirt floor and rested her head against her arms. She was asleep instantly.

* * *

**A/N:** I don't normally do gratuitous drunkenness in fics, but at my house beer is considered, like... a nutritious breakfast. Calories galore. So that's what I was going off of. Warmest of thanks to reviewers, **Kou Shun'u, kaname's harisen, Lupinara, IDanceToForget, likelurking, everlastingtrueromance, Moriarsh, Originals-Klaroline, mybrokenvow...** I have to say I'm LOVING the reactions to this story. Half of you think Draco's an arse and like seeing Hermione beat the crap out of him, half of you think he's being sweet and they should make out. I think you're all correct! But instead of making your dreams come true I'm going to continue throwing a bunch of strife at these characters muahahaha! Ahem. Okay until next time, cheers :)


	10. Writing On Stone

**X – Writing On Stone  
**

"_Impossible. No..."_

_An implacable tide of memory, pulsing, closing in: fever and bruises; darkness, walls of stone, and eyes fixed upon her relentlessly; hands dancing over her skin, making her gasp, and warm breath, lips against her lips._

"_Draco. Don't move."_

_A piercing look, knowledge in his eyes._

"_It's me, isn't it?"_

* * *

The crisp morning light stung Hermione's eyes as she opened them blearily, and she stifled a gasp at the wave of nausea that wracked through her. The moment her senses settled and she oriented herself, however, her malaise was eclipsed. Sleeping directly next to her, only a foot or two away with his face pressed against the floor, was Malfoy. His hair was still damp and his robes were a mess. Thanking her lucky stars that he was not yet awake Hermione remained immobile and tried to decide how best to proceed.

There was no way to extricate herself from this situation with dignity. She was lying on a kitchen floor with Malfoy, her own hair still wet, and... Why was her hair wet?

_The berries! The berries, the berries, THE BERRIES!_

Malfoy stirred and she closed her eyes instinctively, feigning sleep with her heart pounding so violently that she was certain all the woodland creatures in the vicinity would hear it and run in fright. She expected Malfoy to scramble away from her, possibly to start swearing. What she did not expect was to hear him shuffle around for a few moments, and then grow very, very still. She tried to keep her breathing even so as not to give herself away, and reasoned with herself that, at the very least, she had not yet died or begun foaming at the mouth. If the berries were a trap, they were a slow-acting one.

Hermione felt a slight brush of air against her face as Malfoy got up. He did not speak but stood, subdued, in the middle of the room, presumably looking down at her. Hermione's head was still spinning and she wondered what he was seeing of significance, why he was not moving. She wondered whether she was going to be sick. After a long moment she heard him move away towards the door, muttering something under his breath. Then he stopped again.

"_Granger,_" he said urgently.

Hermione made a show of stirring slowly and opening her eyes. When she looked at him he was glaring, and he did not look fooled.

"What?" she asked, annoyed that her voice sounded so small. Well, the circumstances were downright embarrassing, what was there to do?

"Cast a spell," Malfoy demanded.

"What?"

"Did I stutter?" he snapped. "Try and cast a spell, _now._"

"Why?" Hermione was beginning to feel like a broken record. Frowning, she pulled out her wand and blinked at Malfoy, waiting for an explanation.

"Granger, I fucking swear—"

"_Silencio,_" she said, pointing her wand directly at him.

His jaw jutted out in annoyance. "Very clever."

Hermione gasped. "It—It didn't work!" She stared at her wand, affronted. "That's never happened before. _Silencio!_"

"Save your breath," Malfoy snapped. "Mine doesn't work either."

Hermione examined her wand again and, at length, she opened her palm. It was stained a faint red, with tiny black seeds sticking to the creases in her skin. She uttered a hundred curses in her head, her horror increasing exponentially as she considered the ramifications. This was the worst thing that had happened, by far, since she had entered the forest.

"It's not the wands," she said in a hollow voice. "It's us."

Malfoy raised an eyebrow, waiting for her to elaborate.

"Look at your hands. We ate those berries sometime in the night. This was their purpose all along. We've lost our magic."

"Fuck." Malfoy's eyes widened as his memories returned. "_Fuck_. What—What were you fucking _thinking?_"

"Me? This wasn't my idea!"

"The hell it wasn't! I know better than to go stuffing my face with—"

"You were as drunk as I was, Malfoy. The berries had just as much allure for you. Can you honestly say you remember whose suggestion this was?"

"_Not mine!_" he shouted, his face growing pale with anger, but the lie was evident in his tone. Without warning he kicked the table with all his might, sending it flying across the room. Hermione ducked in alarm as shards of splintered wood exploded through the air.

"I'M A WIZARD!" he screamed so loudly that her ears rang. She had never seen Malfoy so thoroughly distraught. "THIS IS BULLSHIT!"

"Malfoy, j—just calm down," Hermione stammered.

"DON'T TELL ME TO CALM DOWN!"

"This can't be permanent," she said as calmly as she could manage. His panic was threatening to become infectious. "Magic isn't an acquired trait, it's in our DNA. To lose it we'd have to reprogram our genes completely. The berries are—they're probably inhibiting us somehow. Maybe once they pass out of our systems we'll be back to normal."

The ever-present scowls of her schoolmates when she launched into long-winded technical explanations flashed through her head, and she wondered whether she ought to rephrase. But again Malfoy surprised her by requiring no clarification. Her words actually seemed to sooth him by a fraction, and he at least ceased to vent his anger on unsuspecting furniture.

"This isn't as bad as it seems," said Hermione, encouraged. She was trying to convince herself as much as him. She was, in fact, profoundly disturbed. She was _lost _without magic.

Malfoy sneered cruelly. He seemed too upset to really register that she was trying to help.

"Easy for you to say," he snapped, raking a hand through his hair while he began to twirl his wand unconsciously again. "What's the difference to you? You grew up as a fucking Muggle."

Hermione was surprised by the white-hot rage that swept through her. Oh, was _that_ what he thought? Did he think that she had not felt out of place, lost, all her life until she had found Hogwarts, where she truly belonged? Did he think she did not value her magic every bit as much as he did his?

"Go to hell," she said very quietly, pushing past him to the entranceway, desperate to leave the cottage and his presence. She had gotten into the bad habit of engaging in verbal sparring with Malfoy while trapped here, and she could recognize that it was toxic—addictive. She had to get control of herself.

Before her fingers could close upon the doorknob to the exit, however, she screamed as a splitting pain tore through her head. She thought at first that it was a result of the mead, but she recognized the particular acid bite of this headache. She had felt it once before.

"Oh no," she whispered desperately, hoping against hope that she was wrong as she prodded the door open. "Not again, _not again._"

Malfoy had joined her, drawn by her screams, and she turned back to look at him, their argument forgotten. His mouth was hanging open in dismay, identical to hers.

The door of the cottage no longer led back out to the forest. Instead it opened on a blackened, overcast swamp filled with fallen trees and the sounds of angry creatures hidden in secret hollows.

* * *

A dank Muggle hangar, doors pried open in the night. Two strangers meeting under cover of shadow.

The clicking of heels against pavement and the surreptitious scratch of an acid-green quill against parchment.

"I understood I was to be meeting with Harry Potter."

"And I understood I was to be meeting with the Minister for Magic."

"The Minister is not at liberty to speak of these matters, nor is he likely to compromise his personal security by appearing here unguarded."

A knowing smile.

"Harry Potter is fully occupied at the moment, attempting to recover the indefatigable Hermione Granger."

"Hermione Granger is on a personal holiday. It is understood."

"Of course it is, darling. A lot of things are understood. And you may understand that Harry Potter has sent me in his stead, and I have no intention of leaving without my story."

"So to speak?"

"Story—Information. Snitches and Snidgets. Whatever you want to call it, we were given reason to believe Miss Granger was silenced in a manner similar to Damocles Chiswick."

A calculated pause. The tired croak of cicadas.

"The disappearances you _should_ be looking into, Madame Skeeter, is that of Draco Malfoy."

"No names. Or else what should I call you?"

A dark, rumbling chuckle. "You will never learn my name, Madame. You may call me the First Wand. Your little exposé on Dumbledore was nothing to what you are facing now. Do not dig too deeply unless you are prepared for what you will find."

"Which is?"

"... Draco Malfoy's comings and goings prior to his disappearance, Madame Skeeter. Look into that."

"Why Malfoy? Or should I report back to Harry Potter that his contact was less than cooperative?"

"There is an organization that has existed since the year 1692, unknown to wizarding society, operating in shadows—"

"Unspeakables—"

"No, no. The Ministry's Unspeakables are child's play next to this group. Officially its members do not exist. They are our world's fiercest weapon; the agents of last resort."

"These so-called agents of last resort did not think to make themselves useful when You-Know-Who was tearing down the Ministry?"

"That was well known to be a matter between the Dark Lord and Harry Potter. Their involvement was silent and unacknowledged. Who do you think arranged to have He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named made aware of the continued existence of the Elder Wand, sending him on a hunt to foreign lands and allowing Harry Potter time to complete his mission?"

A sharp intake of breath. The frantic scribbling of a quill.

"You will destroy all records of this conversation within twenty-four hours, Madame."

"Fine, fine. And what does all this have to do with Draco Malfoy?"

"I am not privy to all of that information. I was forced to resign from the ranks of this organization some months ago after I protested... certain developments."

"Developments of the dark variety?"

"Experiments. Performed on live subjects. The organization was attempting develop human weapons to be wielded in the event that a new Dark Wizard should rise."

"Draco Malfoy's involvement—"

"Apply your investigative capabilities, Madame. I shall say no more."

A halting entreatment. Steps fading away. A whisper to the empty night.

"Ah, Little Miss Perfect, what have you gotten us all into?"

* * *

_Knowledge in his eyes._

_"It's me, isn't it?"_

Hermione was falling.

She was tumbling through sharp brambles, hitting her arms and legs and head against jutting rocks and clinging desperately to the hand clasped in hers. She was screaming, too, as was Malfoy, and their screams reverberated against the stone walls looming around them as they fell deeper and deeper.

With no other choice, they had trudged through the swamp outside the cottage for hours, Malfoy hurrying forward and acting as though he intended to leave her behind but never quite leaving her eyesight. Soon Hermione's trainers were soaked through with the murky, fetid waters saturating the muddy ground, and she was exasperated with constantly tripping over the fallen branches of shrunken, diseased trees. She had sat herself on a relatively dry mound of earth, waited until Malfoy was out of earshot, and allowed a few despairing tears to leak from her eyes.

She felt exposed and vulnerable without the ability to use magic. She could not defend herself or even tend to her basic needs for water and shelter without the use of her wand. She might as well be a Muggle. Hermione was struck with unease at the distasteful edge to her thoughts. They were far too close to falling in line with Malfoy's comments. She had to recognize, however, that for many years now there had been an uncomfortable dynamic in her interactions with her own family. There was so much about her life they could not understand. They did not even know she was here in this forest, for Merlin's sake! She had asked Harry not to tell them.

It was Harry and Ron she longed for above all. Their unflagging humor and their resourcefulness. The warmth of the Burrow. Even the uneasy bustle of the Order of the Phoenix would have been welcome, what with its friendly faces and great minds with which to share her concerns.

"Constant vigilance," Hermione muttered vaguely to herself, giving a watery chuckle.

"Granger, are you—are you fucking _crying?_"

She had not heard Malfoy doubling back. Hermione attempted to hide her face, but it was too late. He was looking at her in disgust, his eyes rolling so dramatically that she feared he would rupture an optical nerve.

"What do you want, Malfoy?"

"Not a eulogy for Moody, for one thing. Don't tell me you're going insane already, I don't have the time or the inclination to deal with that shit."

Hermione took a deep breath to calm herself and repeated, "What do you want?"

Malfoy seemed mildly irritated with her for not taking the bait, but he shrugged and pointed over his shoulder, regarding her carefully.

"Figured you might read Latin, giant overinflated head like yours."

"What does Latin have to do with... What have you found?"

"There's a cave down that way. Writing over the entrance."

Hermione sprang to her feet, diverted from her troubles at once by the prospect of a puzzle to solve. She followed Malfoy for half a mile until they came to an enormous protrusion of solid rock rising from the uneven ground. A gaping maw of an opening at its base formed the entrance way to what looked like a steep and never-ending tunnel down into the ground. Words and symbols had been carved painstakingly in a semi-circle above the entrance way.

"The first bit's runes," Hermione pointed out, waving at the more ancient looking set of carvings that loomed above the first.

"I know," said Malfoy. "_Seek not the spirits to grant you the power to run, weary traveler, if you do not mean to run fast._"

"I've never heard that—?"

"It's an old _wizarding_ proverb," Malfoy said a little snidely. "Attributed to Morgana. It means commitment, determination, all that rubbish—"

"I can work that out for myself, thanks," Hermione snapped, trying to squash her annoyance at his knowing something she did not. "The other bit's not as faded, it must have been added in later. Let's see..." She frowned, concentrating. "'_Timorem habeant_,' that means 'Have no fear,' I think. '_Incantatorum_' is 'wielders of magic,' obviously. '_Sapias_' is, er... It's the root for '_Sapiens_,' so—Oh, knowledge, obviously. So it means 'wise.' I don't know '_obnoxiam_,' though. Hmm... '_Timorem habeant incantatorum, sapias obnoxiam averte_.' It means 'Wizards have no fear, the wise are not to be turned away,' I think."

"Is the running commentary really necessary, Granger? What is it all about?"

"Well, I suppose it means it's a safe place."

"No way in hell I'm going in there, then."

Hermione very nearly smiled. "No, it would seem best not to, wouldn't it?"

They glanced at one another quickly, engaging in a silent consultation as to how to proceed. The ease with which they were beginning to communicate brought home to Hermione the gravity of the situation: all they had to rely upon was each other, which was a sorry prospect in itself. There was no sign of a living creature for miles. Her chances of finding sustenance here were even slimmer than they had been in the forest.

Perhaps this parallel Department of Mysteries had decided to make a game of killing them, going about it slowly, toying with them.

Fatigue and hunger and fear piled atop one another, and she was shaking, and she no longer had the strength to hold in everything that had been weighing on her.

"What the fuck do you _want?_" she yelled, demanding answers of the sky.

_Merlin, Hermione, where'd that foul mouth come from?_ asked Ron in her head, bemused. Malfoy, too, was looking at her in surprise.

The enchanted ceiling had no answers for her. Her heart heavy, Hermione lifted one foot to begin trudging on, and found that she could not move. Looking down in horror, she saw that hundreds of little vines had crawled out of the ground while she was reading the writing above the cave and wound themselves around her feet. Malfoy was similarly restrained. They shared a look of panic before what had appeared to be an inoffensive root suddenly lashed out and sent them flying backwards through the air. They sailed past the entrance of the cave into the tunnel, and Hermione flailed her arms, trying to find purchase on the stone walls, and her hand met something soft and she clung on with all her might. But it was only Malfoy, who had done the same and was now clinging to her hand as they fell into the cave.

* * *

**A/N:** Total Watergate moment in this chapter, I know. Couldn't resist. The line that's attributed to Morgana is actually an old African proverb, if I'm not mistaken. Thank you to reviewers,** Lupinara, SavvyJackie, yourxenium, IDanceToForget, Originals Klaroline, buttercup, kaname's harisen, Idunn, racehlariel17, Preciousblue...** I know the cutout bits outside the department of mysteries are a bit hard to follow since you're not sure of anyone's identity, but I promise there is a plan and answers will come in time. Cheers!


	11. The Looking Glass

**XI – The Looking Glass**

"_It's me, isn't it?"_

_Panic roaring in her ears, all-engulfing, giving way to frantic denial. Unable to accept, to leave behind, to desert. Memories tearing her insides to ribbons. The feel of his hands burning into her skin, warm breath on the inside of her thigh. Tears prickle the corners of her eyes._

"_Go, Hermione. Fucking _go_."_

"_No."_

_An abrupt change, an imperceptible shift that leaves a tingle in the air._

_Pupils beginning to dilate. Irises deepening in color._

_A beginning and ending melding together._

* * *

Hermione landed with a painful crunch against a pile of damp woodchips. She thought she might have sprained her left ankle, and there was a scratch along her collarbone that was bleeding rather badly, but for the moment she was merely happy to be alive. She could not even begin to estimate how far she had fallen.

There was a groan as Malfoy raised his head, and Hermione felt a pressure against her arm. She turned in surprise and saw that she and Malfoy were still holding hands. His eyes flickered down and he pulled away as if burned.

The smell of earth and rot assaulted Hermione's nostrils. She attempted to stand up and winced as her ankle ached in protest. Pulling back the hem of her robes she saw that her skin was blackened and swollen. Her ankle was not sprained but broken.

Malfoy had already scrambled to his feet and was walking in a slow semi-circle around the small space afforded by the cave. What little light filtered down through the tunnel from above barely illuminated the walls, and she heard him swear under his breath as he stumbled against a pile of rock.

"_Lumos!_" he muttered furiously.

Then he remembered. What little Hermione could see of his face was torn between despair and unabated, helpless rage. She wondered if he had ever gone a day in his life without the use of magic in some capacity. But that avenue of thought led too quickly to memories of Malfoy Manor, and she halted those memories in their tracks, shifting slightly to try to look around her. That was when she felt something poke into her back.

Hermione pushed herself into a sitting position and picked up the little box that had jabbed her, staring wonderingly at the words on the packaging.

"Unbelievable," she whispered.

"Don't get off your arse and lend a hand or anything," Malfoy piped up angrily. "I'm perfectly fine stumbling around this fucking pit on my own."

"Malfoy, there are matches here!"

He ignored her, making his way towards the foot of the tunnel and attempting to clear away some of the brambles so as to pry his way out.

"Malfoy!" she insisted.

"_What?_ What the fuck are matches?"

"Muggles use them to make fire!" She pulled one out, struck it against the side of the box, and their faces were suddenly illuminated by a burst of bright orange flames.

"Ridiculous," Malfoy muttered, but he eyed the box of matches hungrily as the ephemeral flame burned out. Briskly he held out his hand. "Give them here, then. Since you can't be bothered, I'll clear a passage out."

Hermione withdrew a fair portion of the matches from the box and dropped them into his hand, but she shook her head, standing gingerly with all her weight on her right leg.

"I can't go back that way. It's too steep, and my ankle's broken. I can barely stand."

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "Great. So I get to drag you out by that bushy fucking mop on your head, is that it?"

Hermione looked at him strangely. Was he offering to _carry_ her?

"For what?" she asked. "To go back to that swamp? There's even less chance of finding food or anything of use up there than there is here."

"How's that?"

"Aren't you paying attention? These matches can't have gotten here by accident. There's a reason people are... brought down here, there has to be. There might be more objects of use hiding somewhere, if we can just find an opening into the rest of the cave system. The tunnel we came through looks volcanic, this passageway might go on for miles and miles."

"_Volcanic—?_"

"Old, dormant." Hermione waved away his alarmed question. She attempted to hobble towards the wall to look for an opening, wincing as pain shot up her leg, and Malfoy made a convulsive motion before going very still, standing apart from her with his arms held stiffly at his sides. Hermione struck another match and held it above her head, scanning the damp stone walls. And there it was! A good seven feet above the ground, a hole in the rock leading into what looked like a much wider tunnel.

"How d'you plan to get up there?" drawled Malfoy coldly.

"I'll just levi—" Hermione caught herself, stricken. She had slipped too. She had been about to suggest _Wingardium Leviosa_. The realization that she could not hurt like a punch to the gun. She recovered and stared at Malfoy, biting her lip. Surely he was not going to make her _ask..._

Malfoy made a tutting noise and, looking extremely put-upon, strode forward to kneel before her, lacing his fingers together into a low foothold. Hermione hesitated for only a moment before hoisting herself up on her good leg and grasping the edge of the opening in the rock. With a mighty heave she pulled herself up into the tunnel, biting down on a cry of pain as her ankle knocked against the ground. Then she turned around and held out her arms to pull Malfoy up.

He watched her impassively.

"I'm not going _deeper_ into a fucking cave, Granger."

"But—You're just turning around? Leaving?" Hermione felt strangely bereft, but she could not bring herself to ask him to stay. Her pride reared up and she shrugged. "Good luck."

_So fucking sentimental,_ he drawled in her head, a new addition to the small colony of phantom voices that followed her around. But the real Malfoy did not speak. He merely stared at her a little longer, then turned on his heel and began to work at shifting the brambles in the first tunnel again.

The lump rising in her throat was the most absurd inconvenience. She shook her head and started off down the tunnel. She had to duck her head a little when standing, and hang onto the uneven stone wall as she hopped along on one leg, so it was slow going. Conserving her matches, she walked along in the dark, alone and in pain, and attempted to recite the footnotes to Hector Dagworth's translation of Golpalott's laws of potioneering in her head.

Half an hour later, partway through the eighteenth footnote, Hermione let out a small scream when she glimpsed a disturbance in the corner of her eye. In a reflexive movement she drew her wand and sprang at the man following behind her, only to trip on her bad ankle and realize that, in any case, her wand was quite useless. She fell forward against the man, just in time to realize to her mortification that it was not some bloodthirsty beast or ill-intentioned intruder.

"This is how you fare on your own for half an hour?" drawled Malfoy, closing his hands around her shoulders and pushing her away from his chest, setting her on her feet. "Pathetic."

"What are you doing here?" she asked, glad that the darkness hid the blush creeping up her cheeks. She was acting quite irrationally.

"Exit tunnel was too steep, couldn't make it out."

Hermione tried to remember the slope of the tunnel they had fallen through, frowning. She had not thought that it looked inaccessible. He must have taken quite a running leap to climb up after her.

"I—" she began, but Malfoy was already striding past her.

"Hurry up," he called impatiently over his shoulder, and Hermione followed him, lost in thought.

* * *

_Madame Malfoy,_

_I have finally succeeded in establishing contact with the group you believe to be responsible for young Mr Malfoy's disappearance. The first meeting was most illuminating. You may find the following report rather alarming, but I urge you not to allow yourself to be too badly troubled. I believe there is still a fair chance your son may be recovered unharmed._

_The merchants I spoke to inform me that they report to a man who calls himself the First Wand—though the identity of the First Wand is unclear and has apparently changed many times over the years. They have been charged with recruiting young boys and girls with no family or connections. Urchins who will not be missed. These unfortunate souls are subjected to some form of market testing that I have not yet been made privy to. However, the circumstances are suspect. The group keep strict star and lunar charts in their headquarters and speak often of 'windows of opportunity.' I need not tell you what this may imply. I believe it is possible young Mr Malfoy has fallen prey to this brand of inhuman testing, though his wealth and name make him an unlikely candidate._

_I shall continue, dear Madame, to work tirelessly towards uncovering further information._

_Yours Sincerely,_

_A dedicated friend._

* * *

They walked along in silence for some time. Hermione fixed her eyes on the back of Malfoy's head and tried to concentrate on the fact that, for whatever reason, he had come back. At least now if she collapsed and fell unconscious she would not be entirely alone and unguarded. But her efforts to distract herself were in vain, and she was soon whimpering in pain with each step. Every time she accidentally put the minutest amount of weight on her ankle she felt as though her bones were splintering and catching on fire.

At last she could not help herself, and shut her eyes tight as the pain rose higher. Immediately she tripped against a jutting rock and fell forward, scraping her arms against the ground. Malfoy's footsteps stopped, but he did not turn around.

_Get up, get up!_ she screamed at herself, but she had to take a moment to catch her breath.

"Are you planning on getting up any time this century?"

Hermione gritted her teeth. "Just—Just a minute."

He rounded on her and Hermione felt disproportionately upset by the cold impatience in his eyes. Through all his desire for haste, he had certainly not offered to help her. Ron would have been hovering all over her by now, insisting that she was indisposed and that she could by no means fend for herself. Hermione could not decide which attitude annoyed her more.

"You're the one who was so keen on going on a treasure hunt," Malfoy snapped. "Suck it up."

"Don't you think I'm trying?" Hermione hissed.

"Apparently not."

Hermione fought down angry tears as best she could and threw him a withering glare. A million scathing retorts crowded on her tongue and it took all her restraint not to begin swearing again. Deep breaths. Heartbeat racing.

Malfoy watched her a little while longer and slowly his expression shifted.

"After Snape killed Dumbledore," he said tonelessly, not looking at Hermione but staring intently at the tunnel wall, "the Dark Lord broke both my feet, my wrist, most of my fingers, and three of my ribs. Then he sent me out to catch one of my father's peacocks—needed it for some sort of ritual. It took me six hours to catch one. On foot, without magic. Do you know how I did it?"

Hermione could only gape at him, dumbstruck.

"I did it because I didn't have a fucking choice. It was either that, or die." His eyes snapped to hers. There was a roaring in her ears that she could not identify. "And now, it's either find food, or starve to death. And I'm not letting you drag me into the indignity of dying in this shithole. _Suck—It—Up_."

He seized her by the scruff of her robes and yanked her up, keeping hold of her shoulders to steady her. He held her there for one, two, three seconds, until she felt that she could stand on her own, and raised his eyebrows in question.

"Good to go," she told him shakily.

He let go and began to walk again without another word.

_Git_, said Ron gruffly in her head, while Harry remained silent, his bright green eyes pensive.

_Both my feet, my wrist, most of my fingers, three of my ribs..._

She did not make another peep. She swallowed her pain and redoubled her efforts to proceed as quickly as possible. And as chance would have it, within another fifteen minutes the tunnel opened up onto one of the most breathtaking vistas Hermione had ever beheld.

It was a cave the size of a large cathedral, its high ceiling glittering with a myriad of water droplets dripping from the tips of stalactites. An actual, honest-to-God waterfall sprang from another opening at the top of the far cave wall, tumbling down into a vast pool of water so clear and still it reflected its surroundings like an enormous looking glass. The entire cave was illuminated by the presence of millions of tiny reflective crystals encrusted within the rock all around them. And several small fish could be seen darting around the pond, joyfully breaking the water's surface.

Hermione was so relieved she felt lightheaded.

Simultaneously she and Malfoy broke into a mad run towards the water, and Hermione tripped and Malfoy pulled her upright before she could hit the ground in a seemingly unconscious move, still running, and then they had both arrived at the pool and Hermione jumped in, relishing the cool sensation against her skin as though it were the world's greatest treasure. The pool was a fair bit deeper and wider across than it had appeared from afar, and Hermione tore off her cloak, tossing it onto the bank before diving beneath the surface to swim out to the center. With the pressure removed from her injured ankle she felt infinitely better already.

Her head emerged and she cupped her hands, drinking deeply from the delicious water. Malfoy had walked around the pool towards the opposite bank, and by the time she finished drinking he had disappeared behind the waterfall.

Hermione dragged herself back to the edge of the water, keeping her ankle submerged, and sorely regretted the use of her wand. It would be much more tedious to wait for her clothes to dry on their own. Malfoy had not yet reappeared, but she did not dare strip down to set her blouse out to dry in case he returned abruptly.

Contemplating her next step—which most definitely included catching a nice, fat fish—Hermione splashed her feet a little in the water, disturbing the clear surface. And for a brief moment her heart stopped because she could have sworn she saw a face other than her own reflected in the water, its features distorted but unmistakable.

No. It was not possible. She was suffering from sleep deprivation, she was beginning to see things.

"Malfoy?" she called uncertainly, wondering if this could be some elaborate trick. But how could it be?

Malfoy did not answer. Hermione pulled her feet out of the water, ignoring the renewed pain in her ankle, and scrambled into a kneeling position.

_An abrupt change, an imperceptible shift that leaves a tingle in the air._

Suddenly the cave seemed eerily quiet, and the illumination from the crystals was not quite bright enough to dispel the shadows that stretched from every corner. She turned her head slowly and at last located the source of the movement.

Someone was standing behind a wide collection of stalagmites a few yards away.

"Who's there?" she demanded gruffly, feigning a confidence she did not feel.

_No wand, no wand, no wand_, her mind moaned at her. How was she to defend herself without it?

But then the man stepped out from behind the stalagmites and all the aggression drained out of her at once. She held her arms aloft like a sleepwalker and reached for him, her eyes wide with delight and incredulity.

"Hello, Hermione," said Harry.

* * *

**A/N:** So many thanks to all who reviewed, **SavvyJackie** (forgot to mention last time but seriously thanks so much for taking the time to post, like, many-paragraph reviews for each chapter! Love it!), **justy13, kaname's harisen** (your double reviews here and at H&V rock my socks off!), **MattsMarshMello, yourxenium, Originals-Klaroline, IDanceToForget** (Haha I'm updating this one first this time!),** ArtemisGoddess, Lindylou70, Lupinara** (also forgot to mention last time that I totally stole Hermione's "not dead or foaming at the mouth yet" line from your review-thanks for that, it made me laugh!), **JMLMonkey, Moriarsh, likelurking, Eosjoy...** I'm really sorry I haven't answered all of you yet. I've been trying to make tiramisu and it keeps coming out too runny. Anybody got any suggestions? Anyway, so, the next chapter is one of my favorites so far and it's finished so it'll be up on Saturday. (Oh and PS many of you have been making some really excellent guesses as to what's going on with the italicized openings of each chapter.) Cheers!


	12. Malediction

**XII – Malediction**

_Pupils dilating. Irises darkening._

"_Stop! You—You can fight this!" _

_A newborn, terrible hunger, mirrored on her other side. No escape._

"_Hermione... Can't stop..."_

_Teeth closing around her neck, drawing blood. Pain and fear and incongruent sympathy. And then a heavy blow to her side._

* * *

"_Harry!_ Oh my goodness, Harry!"

She forced herself to her feet to run forward and throw her arms around him, but he sidestepped her, his arms folded calmly against his chest. Hermione felt the sting of hurt and confusion and looked at him questioningly.

"This is a bad place," said Harry in a voice a little lower, a little colder, than she remembered.

"I know," Hermione agreed. "How did you get here? I didn't want you to come after me, I didn't want you to be trapped here."

"You're the one who's trapped. And it's only going to get worse."

He was giving her a look she had never seen before. It was almost predatory. Hermione felt a chill go down her spine and took a step back from him. Unconsciously, she glanced at the waterfall to see whether Malfoy had returned yet, but he was still absent.

"What's going on, Harry?"

"You're going to die," said Harry flatly, his eyes boring into hers.

"W—What?"

"You're going to die unless you find it before he finds you."

"Find what? Before _who_ finds me?"

"The way out, Hermione. Find it before the creature finds you." A muscle twitched in his jaw and suddenly his eyes were open wide and his voice was much too loud. It was deafening. It made her shiver.

"_Follow the bones, Hermione. Or you're going to die._"

There was no doubt about it. She drew herself up to full height and glared at him.

"Who are you?" she asked. "You're not Harry!"

Without moving, he was suddenly an inch away from her, snarling in her face so that she recoiled in horror. The man who was not Harry trailed a finger lightly across her cheek and down her neck, smiling meanly.

"Oh, but I am," he said. "I'm Harry, not Ron. What does that say about you, hmm?"

She could not fathom his meaning. What fault was it of hers if some malevolent force was impersonating Harry for reasons unknown?

"He's more like you than you think, you know," Harry went on, now tracing her collarbones while his thumb pressed cruelly into the pulse point at the base of her neck. It was so utterly wrong to see Harry behaving this way that she felt a strangled sob begin to fight its way up her throat.

"Who?" she asked.

"You know who."

Ron? Bless his heart, but she was almost nothing at all like Ron. Hermione shook her head quizzically.

"He put his loyalty in the wrong place, maybe," Harry insisted, now gripping her neck painfully tight. "But it was there all the same. You could help one another. You won't be able to do this alone. Alone you'll die." His eyes bulged once again and his nails dug into her skin. "Find the bones or die, Hermione!"

But Hermione had had enough. She pulled away from him brusquely, and the pain in her ankle flared. She closed her eyes for a moment as she got control of her senses, and when she opened them Harry was gone.

Harry was gone.

He had not really been Harry, not at all, but Hermione's heart still sank. For the few instants before he had begun to talk, it had been marvelous simply to see him. Still, she _was_ glad now that it had not been Ron. She did not think she could have stood such coldness from him.

A splashing noise diverted her and she looked in the direction of the waterfall. Malfoy was emerging with his eyes wild and his cheeks flushed. He stopped in his tracks when he saw her standing by the water, and he looked back and forth between her and the waterfall, apparently more bewildered by the second.

"What—How—" She could just barely hear him spluttering from across the pool.

"Malfoy, don't drink the water!" she called out. "Merlin, I can't believe it, I've just seen Harry! He was _right here_, and then he was gone!"

When she mentioned Harry his alarm gave way to surprise, and then, strangely, to a pronounced scowl.

"He said something about—"

"Granger," Malfoy interrupted suddenly. "Shut the fuck up."

And with that he turned his back on her and set off to find a place to settle in the cave, leaving Hermione staring at him in utter incomprehension.

* * *

Malfoy was ignoring her studiously and relentlessly. Hermione did not understand what she had done, and eventually wrote it off as his being temperamental. The situation became distressing, however, when Hermione realized that she would not be able to rely on him for fish. As the day wore on her ankle swelled beyond all reasonable proportions and it was a torment simply to drag herself out to the water.

To her immense relief she was finally able to catch a nice, fat trout and spent an exasperating _two hours _lighting matches under twigs until they grew dry and warm. When at last she had managed to spark a few feeble flames she stared at them blankly for several seconds, then gasped so dramatically that Malfoy looked up from across the water.

"It was the magic!" she exclaimed loudly as Malfoy watched her with stormy eyes. He made to turn away from her again, but she was not to be deterred now that she had finally realized...

Hermione had splinted her ankle with a pair of crooked sticks and a strip of cloth torn from her robes, and manage to hobble quickly around the pool to stand before him.

"Don't you think it's odd that I managed to heal you with such inadequate potion supplies?" she asked excitedly. When Malfoy pursed his lips and refused to respond she snapped her fingers in his face impatiently and cried, "Malfoy, this is no time for you to be in a mood! How did I manage to heal you?"

"I'm not playing twenty questions with you, Granger," he finally said through clenched teeth.

"It's because I _didn't_ heal you!" Hermione burst out. "Not entirely, anyway. You were on death's door, Malfoy, and then one morning you were just _fine_. I helped the fever break but that wouldn't have been enough. Something happened to you."

"I'm fucking _peachy_, nothing _happened_ to me."

"Oh, of course it did. Listen, don't you think it's even stranger that I wasn't able to catch a single fish in the forest, and you did just fine?"

"So you're rubbish at fishing, big fucking deal. You can't do everything perfectly—"

Hermione sighed exasperatedly and cut across him. "I can fish very well! If I couldn't I would have starved more than once. But the moment I set foot in that stream all the fish vanished. It was the same with the squirrels and birds. The forest recognized me as an intruder, but not you because—because you got ill and—and now I can't do magic the power of this place doesn't recognize me either. That's why I can catch fish now!"

"Great story, Granger. I'll take three feet of parchment on your theory by Monday."

Hermione gave a startled laugh, then caught herself and scowled. "Do you have a better one?"

"I'll leave the theorizing to you, since you seem to get yourself wet babbling pointless bullshit—"

"Don't be ridiculous!" she shrieked, her mouth falling open in shock. Her cheeks flamed in fury at his refusal to take her seriously. "The point is that this means the berries might actually have been an answer to your wish, some form of help. They take magic away, so whoever eats them is able to forage food for themselves."

Malfoy heaved a deep sigh and busied himself over his failed attempt at a campfire, ignoring her.

"I'm saying this is the sort of thing that can be _reversed!_" said Hermione at the top of her voice.

At this Malfoy finally seemed to perk up, and he stood to face her with a slight frown creasing his brow.

"How?"

"When witches or wizards find their abilities impeded—usually by stress or something of the sort—many have observed that they were able to be jolted back to normal by a great shock. A threat to their safety, a near-death situation..."

Malfoy looked at her with narrowed eyes for a full thirty seconds before nodding jerkily.

"Right," he said. "Attack me."

"I beg your pardon?" Hermione choked.

"Have a go, threaten my safety." When she did not move he rolled his eyes. "I'm not going to attack you while you're fucking crippled, Granger. Get on with it."

Hermione regarded him thoughtfully. Perhaps such a straightforward method was worth a try.

"Close your eyes," she said.

Malfoy cringed but complied. She could imagine how difficult it must be for him to lower his guard around her. She would have felt the same unease. As quietly as she could Hermione dipped down, picked up a heavy rock, and padded around Malfoy's camp so that she was standing behind him. The roar of the waterfall masked the sound of her steps.

"Open then," she murmured.

Malfoy tensed when he realized she was no longer in front of him. By the time he whipped around she had already raised the rock high and was swinging it at his head, hoping fervently that she would be able to halt her own momentum should Malfoy's magic not rise to his defense.

She need not have worried. Malfoy's reflexes were sharp as ever, and he ducked the attack effortlessly. Unfortunately not a trace of magic presented itself. Hermione dropped the rock, bitterly disappointed.

"It was worth a try," she said, but Malfoy had already squared his shoulders and turned away from her.

Hermione slept fitfully that night. She had improperly scaled her fish in her distraction and the slimy taste lingered on her tongue, coating her throat unpleasantly. When at last she drifted off her dreams were populated by ill-intentioned, shiftless shadows that clutched at her throat with overlong fingers, touching a chill to the center of her heart. And then one of the shadows bore down and it had glistening fangs and they were tearing at her and—

"_Aaargh!_" Hermione screeched, waking up with a face looming an inch above hers and panicking. Before she could register what was happening she had already jumped up, scratching and clawing and yelling. She was jabbing fiercely with her fingers to attempt to puncture her assailant's eyes when a hand closed like a vice around her wrist. She attempted to free herself, pushing forward fiercely, and forced Malfoy against the cave wall.

"Oh!" she blurted, dropping her arms in surprise and swaying on the spot. There were several scratches running the length of his jaw, she noticed—her doing. He looked incensed.

"Your theory's shit, Granger," he panted.

"W—What—"

"I thought it'd be more effective if we didn't actually know the attack was coming," Malfoy spat. "Clearly it didn't work."

"You scared me to death," Hermione said reproachfully. _You could apologize_, her well-mannered alter-ego prodded her. It had really been rather a clever plan on his part. But she was too dazed, still cloaked in sleep and out of breath, and her ankle was paining her dreadfully and she had forgotten to step away from Malfoy, who was looking at her very intently.

"Are there other ways?" he asked.

"How do you mean?"

"Other ways of jolting the magic back."

Hermione frowned. "I suppose some sort of emotional upheaval... It happened to Tonks, but..."

"Who?"

"Nymphadora Tonks, your cousin. Andromeda's daughter. Andromeda married a Muggle and the whole lot of them were stricken from the Black family tree for it—"

In the middle of her speech Malfoy reached out without warning and flipped them around so that she was backed against the cave wall and he was flush against her. Before she could ask what in Merlin's name he was doing he had pinned her wrists to her sides and pressed his knee between her legs so that she could lean her weight against his leg and rest her ankle. Then he ducked low, his chest pressing into hers, and whispered in her ear so that his lips just brushed her skin.

"So fucking someone the family doesn't approve of is a magic booster, is it?"

"I—What—" Hermione spluttered as he let go of her wrist and traced a line up her side along the curve of her waist. Goosebumps followed the path of contact and, out of nowhere, she felt very warm.

_WHAT THE BLOODY EFFING HELL?_ Ron was screaming in her head. But she was too flabbergasted to speak, and in any case Ron had left, forfeiting his right to continue checking in on her.

Malfoy's hand had delved inside her robes and at this Hermione finally recovered her senses, shoving at him with all her might. He did not seem deterred but merely rocked back on his heels, lifting up her wand and twitching it before her eyes. Oh, he had filched it from her inside pocket! Hermione choked on her indignation as Malfoy held out the wand to her, his eyes twinkling maliciously.

She understood and breathed a sigh of mingled relief and exasperation.

"_Impedimenta,_" she breathed, mortified by the pronounced quaver in her voice.

Nothing whatsoever happened. She lowered her wand, disappointed, and Malfoy shrugged.

"Worth a try," he said, echoing her earlier sentiment.

With a brief nod to her he walked away and returned to his camp. It was a long time before Hermione remembered herself and, gathering her composure, returned to hers.

* * *

"You are certain this will work?"

"Beyond a shadow of a doubt, Madame."

A heavy satchel of Galleons dropped upon a table. A flick of a wand locking all surrounding doors.

"You will receive a second payment if and when the operation is successful."

"Certainly."

A sleeve drawn back, revealing a twisted mass of blackened scar tissue in the shape of a skull with a serpent tongue.

"Your arm please, if you would, Madame Malfoy."

Pursed lips and a sleeve drawn back.

"My apologies, Madame."

The flash of a silver blade and a shower of scarlet droplets cascading onto the blackened skull mark. The rhythmic waving of a wand.

"_Sanguinem trascendere._"

Ugly, ridged scars twisting, contorting. Minuscule black lettering unfurling slowly across the skin.

"It is done."

A shuddering sigh of relief.

"You have done well. I will not forget this service."

An unreadable nod. A sleeve pulled up over an open cut.

* * *

**A/N:** It's been pointed out to me that Hermione couldn't actually run on a broken ankle. A few summers ago I broke my foot and went on a six mile hike days later without a cast or crutches (don't ask why I thought that was a good idea), so I was basically going off of that experience, but I realize now that an ankle would be more wobbly. My bad :P Let's just attribute it to adrenaline... As always many thanks to all who reviewed: **SavvyJackie, everlastingtrueromance, kaname's harisen, SupernaturalGirl51799, IDanceToForget, Moriarsh, Preciousblue, justy13, yourxenium, butercup, Lupinara, JMLMonkey, Originals-Klaroline, mybrokenvow, Eosjoy, Guest...** Will likely update on Monday. Cheers!


	13. The Stranger's Bones

**XIII – The Stranger's Bones**

_Teeth closing around her neck. A heavy blow to her side and a grunt of pain accompanying a fall._

_Rivulets of blood dripping down, soaking cloth at her shoulder, spreading like a storm. Consequences unfolding in her mind's eye, rippling through her future, implacable._

_A body rising to face its attacker and two sets of battle cries preceding the clash of claws._

"_Stop—DRACO, PLEASE!"_

_A snarl and she is thrown aside._

* * *

Hermione waited until Malfoy was sleeping before slipping off to the waterfall to douse herself in cold water. The sting of icy droplets against her head and shoulders gradually soothed away the volatile fluttering of her heart and she tried to think straight.

He had not really been trying to _seduce_ her, just to scare her a little. To give her a jolt, make her wonder at his intentions. It had actually been, once again, quite a clever ploy. And Hermione now knew beyond a doubt that emotional shock could not bring her magic back. If it could, what would she have had to do in turn to restore Malfoy's magic?

She resolved at once not to think about it and turned her mind to more pressing matters. She had been scouring the cave for signs of the "bones" the fake Harry had spoken of, and had so far come up short. As she turned her head to let the water run over the cut near she shoulder, however, Hermione realized that there was one place she had not yet examined.

She had not realized that an antechamber of sorts lay on the other side of the waterfall, hidden from view of the rest of the cave. It was the size of a small bedroom and its walls had been smoothed somewhat by the constant trickle of water. In the corner, half-buried under a layer of silt and grime, lay a stark white skeleton of a man with his arm outstretched, the bones of his fingers pointing directly at a fissure in the wall.

She heard the splash a moment before Malfoy appeared and turned in time to see him look both surprised and annoyed by her presence.

"Couldn't sleep?" she asked as casually as she could, determined not to flush at the thought of their previous interaction. Malfoy did not answer. His eyes kept darting to a spot a little to her left; a nondescript stretch of blank stone wall.

"When we first arrived I hallucinated a really bizarre conversation," Hermione went on to break the silence. "But it wasn't just a random vision. I think the water must be charmed somehow. It told me to look for bones and here they are."

"And this pile of bones is going to help how?"

"Harry said I had to follow them or... bad things would happen."

The corner of Malfoy's mouth twitched. "You hallucinated Scarhead? Not Weasley? I wonder how the Weasel would feel knowing you've already ditched him in your head."

Hermione considered him, frowning. "You think the vision was some sort of manifestation of my subconscious?"

"I didn't say that," said Malfoy a little too forcefully, his eyes darting again to the wall.

"But... it makes sense! When we were hunting Horcruxes, Harry and Ron had a row and Ron left." She squirmed a little at revealing this personal information, but she had to make her point. "And I always felt sort of—guilty, I suppose, for choosing Harry over him. But that's... I mean, we'd promised Harry our loyalty and he'd been through so much already, and it was the right thing to do."

"Weasley _left?_ Shit, I never realized he had brains..."

She drew breath sharply, trying to ignore the barb, and added, "Why, did you see something too?"

"No." Malfoy looked away from her.

"You did! Who did you see? What did they tell you?"

"Nothing important." He raised his hand to wave away Hermione's insistence and grimaced suddenly, twitching his arm. Noticing Hermione's interest he quickly shoved his arm behind his back. It was his left.

"What is it?" Hermione asked at once.

"Christ, don't Muggles teach their brats to mind their own business?"

"Oh, Malfoy, don't make me attack you with a rock again," she deadpanned, and for a moment his expression shifted as though he might laugh. Instead he looked away.

"It's just been hurting like hell all evening," he said in a very low voice. "Big fucking deal."

Hermione did not have to ask what _it_ was.

"Well, is there, er, something wrong with it?" she asked tentatively.

Malfoy actually growled in exasperation. "I don't know, I don't spend all my time fucking _looking_ at it, do I?"

No, he certainly did not. And that in itself was alarming, Hermione reflected. What if something unprecedented was happening to his Dark Mark now that Voldemort was dead? What if it was happening to all the Death Eaters? That would definitely be important information. Her curiosity overriding her manners, Hermione strode forward and pulled his arm into the open, shoving his sleeve up to his elbow. Malfoy yelped, but it was too late: the mark was there in front of them, ugly and sickening, but Hermione's eyes had gone round in awe. It had _changed_.

"There are _words!_" Hermione exclaimed. "Were those there before?" But she was already certain they had not been, and Malfoy shook his head. She squinted at the minute writing. "What does it—"

"_Sanctimonia vincent semper_. It's the Malfoy family motto: 'Purity will always conquer.'"

"Lovely," said Hermione under her breath. "And this bit says... Alan Pankhurst."

Malfoy blanched.

"Who's Alan Pankurst?"

"Need to know, Granger, remember?" Malfoy snapped. "This—This is a message from my mother. It means she's sending help."

Hermione's eyebrows knitted together at his solemn expression. "Well, that's good, isn't it?"

Malfoy glared at her so heatedly that she stepped back. "You threw away a chance at a rescue because you didn't want to put your precious Potter at risk. You think I want my _mother_ in danger any more than you do the fucking Chosen One?"

"I—" Hermione had no answer. "I'm sorry."

"What does the skeleton mean?"

She shook herself and looked back at the bones on the ground, almost surprised at seeing them still there.

"Er, well it's pointing at this crack in the wall so I suppose that must be some sort of passageway. I just have to figure out how to open it."

"Why don't you attack it with a rock?"

Hermione stared, biting back a reproachful chuckle. It was disconcerting to be cracking jokes with Malfoy. Like the sort of casual, easy thing one would do with an old friend. She and Malfoy had known each other nearly half their lives, but they were certainly not friends. They were partners at present by necessity, and it would take more than a few clever remarks to make her forget screaming in agony under Bellatrix Lestrange's wand on his drawing room floor.

When she looked back at him Malfoy was staring at the wall again.

* * *

A warm, comfortable sitting room. The glint of gold teeth and a hand reaching out to toy with various baubles.

"Hands off, Skeeter."

"It's fine, Ron, just... Let's sit down."

The scraping of chair legs and a tense interval of silence. A tray brought in by a slinking creature with bat-like ears and large bloodshot eyes.

"What a... grand abode you've made for yourself, Harry! And Godric's Hollow—Well I can certainly see the allure. But tell me, how do you think your precious Hermione would feel about your employing House Elves?"

"I'm paying Kreacher. He's mortified about it, but I pay him a Galleon a week. As for the house, I have you to blame for the move. Since that article of yours the press wouldn't stop staking out Grimmauld Place."

"The public has a right to know—"

"Enough. We're here to talk about the plan."

A squared jaw. "The plan will be the easy part, Harry darling. It's what comes after that you may not like."

Fingers raking angrily through fiery red hair. "Hermione hasn't been _killed_ in some bloody secret experiment. We know she'll have found a way through it, you haven't got a clue what she's capable—"

"When your friend has removed his rose tinted glasses, Harry, I'll lay out the steps of the plan." An intent glare. "Excellent."

"So step one is Polyjuice."

"Correct. Enough for several doses. That I can obtain easily enough from my... associates."

"Right. And the hairs."

"Yours to collect."

"Obviously. Next, Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder."

A dark chuckle. "Sounds a whole lot like when we broke into the Ministry."

A nod. "Now we just need to get Kingsley to agree."

A lengthy, anxious pause, followed by a wistful smile.

"This is going to make a hell of a bestseller."

* * *

Hermione could not believe she was actually hitting the fissure in the wall with a rock. She could hear Malfoy laughing at her from beyond the waterfall, but she had exhausted all other possible options. The list had been short, what with her inability to cast the myriad diagnostic spells that raced through her head.

She would have gladly gone hungry for any number of days in exchange for the renewed use of her wand.

"FUCK!"

Jumping at the sound of Malfoy's exclamation, Hermione turned to see him appear in the waterfall, holding his hand under the torrent to wash away the blood seeping out of a nasty gash on his palm. She had seen him attempting to slice the head from a fish with a jagged piece of rock, and could only imagine that Malfoy did not have much experience in the realm of food preparation. Why should he, when he could torment his Elves to serve him instead?

She stared vaguely at the droplets of blood hitting the ground for a few moments, thinking of the way Harry had described his venture into the cave hiding Voldemort's locket. Hadn't Dumbledore made an offering to get inside?

"Malfoy, come here."

He regarded her with raised eyebrows and Hermione sighed, beckoning him with an impatient wave. When he approached she pointed at the fissure.

"Put your hand against it," she said.

Malfoy's eyes widened in excitement as he understood her meaning, and he ran his hand along the edge of the rock, smearing his blood across it. Hermione waited with bated breath, certain she had made a breakthrough. But nothing changed. Nothing moved. After several minutes of anticipation her shoulders slumped and she was forced to admit that it had not worked.

"Fantastic," Malfoy grumbled, making for the waterfall again.

After a moment's consideration Hermione raised the rock she was holding and struck her own hand with it, catching the skin beneath her thumb and drawing blood.

Malfoy recoiled and exclaimed, "You can't be serious! What difference does—"

But Hermione had already pressed her hand to the rock wall, and at once a deep rumble was heard as the wall began to shift.

Malfoy's jaw dropped.

"What the _fuck?_"

Hermione shrugged. "Like I said, something happened to you when you fell ill. This place reacts differently to you than it does to me."

His nostrils flared and he did not deign to answer her. The implications were not lost on Hermione: her _blood_ had succeeded in activating a magical exit where his had failed. The wall was shrinking and expanding until a large circular hole wide enough to fit a fairly slim person stood before her. She could see only a dark tunnel leading out, but the moment she made to step back to examine it she was hit with the now-familiar splitting headache she had come to dread.

"_No!_" she cried while Malfoy clutched at his head and cursed. "Not this time, no, enough!"

The scene beyond the opening in the rock had changed and she could now glimpse a patch of gray sky at the end of the tunnel. As the headache abated Malfoy slumped against the cave wall and gasped, "Fuck it. We don't have to go. We don't have to play this game."

_Go!_ Harry protested in Hermione's head. _You have to keep moving!_

But the next place they landed in could be even worse than any before.

"Malfoy, what did you see when I had my vision of Harry?" she asked. "I know you had one too. It could be important, it could give us information about what to do now."

"I guarantee it couldn't."

"What do you mean? It had to have meant _something!_"

"Don't—" He snarled and fell forward as another wave of pain seared through the both of them. Hermione panted, alarmed, and realized that this had not happened before. The magic of the cave was prodding them forward, trying to force them to go. They were not allowed to linger once a new opening had appeared.

"_What did you see, Malfoy?_" she insisted, dropping to her knees and cradling her head in her arms. The pain was overwhelming. She could not think straight.

"I saw _you_, all right?" he shouted. Hermione could tell immediately from the look in his eyes that he had not meant to say it, that it had slipped out as a result of the pain.

Even through her distress Hermione was taken aback. If the visions really were an embodiment of their subconscious, she would have hazarded a guess that Malfoy's might appear as his mother or father. But she had begun to see lately that it was a mistake to attempt to anticipate Malfoy. Her assumptions almost always proved to be way off the mark.

"What... What did I say?"

Instead of answering he gave a furious cry of capitulation, sprang to his feet, and ran back through the waterfall. Hermione stared after him, dumbfounded, until he returned a minute later with his robes and his jagged rock tucked under his arm. Hermione understood: there was nothing for it. They had to go, or endure the constant torment of this headache that clouded her ability to think properly.

One after the other they ran through the opening, Hermione falling behind at once because of her poorly splinted ankle. Luckily the tunnel ended almost immediately and they toppled into a small clearing at the foot of...

"Fucking _mountains?_" Malfoy yelled, righting himself and brushing off the dirt that clung to his shirt. Hermione could not help but share his sentiments exactly.

Grassy mountains rose up on either side of them, their height impossible to gage through dense clouds of low-hanging mist. The resulting atmosphere was oppressive and, more importantly, completely mind-boggling. How could this place be large enough to contain mountains?

When she had finished examining her surroundings with a decided lack of appreciation, Hermione looked back at Malfoy and her curiosity flared up.

"What did the hallucinatory me say?" she asked again.

His eyes roved over her face, lingering for a fraction of a second on her lips, and he sneered.

"Need to know, Granger," he said, and left her there to begin gathering firewood.

* * *

**A/N:** We passed 100 reviews! I am so delighted, thanks so much to all of you: **Preciousblue, MattsMarshMello, kaname's harisen, Originals-Klaroline, Lupinara, yourxenium, IDanceToForget, anononymas, SavvyJackie, Moriarsh, mangofrenzyyy, everlastingtrueromance, justy13, likelurking, Angel Left Wing, SuperSonicSara, GoldenPheasant, xXBeautiful TragedyXx, Mongolberry, Narcissa Black Malfoy, Artemis Goddess...** I really wish I had time to answer all of you but I do read every comment and they all make me smile. I am so amused by how polarizing this fic has been so far. Half of you want me to stop being a tease and just hook them up already, and the other half think what little sexual tension there's been so far is actually too soon. I'm doing my best to balance it out, you guys! Hang in there. Cheers :)


	14. The Mists Descending

**XIV – The Mists Descending**

_A snarl. She is shoved aside and draws her wand, but there is no clear shot._

_Claws and teeth and rage and bloodlust. No choice, no escape._

_A blind leap into the fray._

* * *

It was night time and Hermione, as was becoming her custom, could not sleep. Malfoy had taken to setting up camp even further from her than usual, and she could not hear his fidgeting. She had not realized that she had grown so accustomed to it. Every small noise now seemed amplified, the potential growl of a predator on the hunt.

_I saw_ you, _Granger._

What in the world could her doppelganger have done to make him so tight-lipped? He had refused, categorically, to indulge her questions since they had arrived. Hermione had not been so curious about anything since she had begun to investigate Damocles Chiswick.

The mist was beginning to close in and Hermione started to shiver. When she could stand it no more she pulled out her box of matches with shaking fingers and lit a single match, holding her hand over the flames. She had been utterly incapable of lighting a campfire in the pervasive dampness of the clearing. When the flame went out she felt its absence so keenly that she lit another.

"Are you fucking kidding me, Granger?"

She had not heard Malfoy approach. He was leaning against a ridge at the foot of the nearest steep hill, watching her with narrowed eyes. The flicker of the flames must have drawn him.

"I gave you half the matches, Malfoy. I can do what I want with my half."

"Think again. We're both stuck here and if you waste valuable tools you're making it my business."

"What did the vision say to you, Malfoy?"

The fog had drifted all the way to ground and his face was partially obscured by roving tendrils of mist. She could not make out his expression. Hermione had hoped to catch him by surprise, but he gave no indication of falling for her tactics.

"Not much," he drawled at last.

"What? _Nothing?_ There had to have been _some_ information."

"Something about finding a way out before some creature finds us."

"I got the same out of Harry," Hermione muttered, disappointed. "That's it? I was hoping for a clue."

"No, that's not quite all," Malfoy replied quietly. His skin looked incandescent through the fog, and Hermione's head felt very swimmy. He frowned and looked up. "Something's happening. This fog is... Something's happening."

Hermione laughed, though she did not know why. He was right, the fog was amplifying her senses somehow. She could see every bead of dew on the millions of blades of grass surrounding her, forming a blue-gray mosaic that quilted its way up what she could perceive of the hills. She could smell damp wood and rain and the crisp scent of night, and hear the distant song of the wind. It made her insides feel as though they were going to burst. She wanted to exclaim over the brilliance of it. Words were aching to spew forth from her tongue and she tucked her knees up to her chin as if to protect herself from the overwhelming impulse.

It was something akin to being placed under the Imperius curse. Hermione thought back to the day when the fake Professor Moody had attempted to teach her fourth year class to stave off its effects, and made a mighty effort to clear her head.

"What else did the vision say, then?" she asked, pleased with her ability to return to the subject at hand.

"It didn't _say_ anything," Malfoy replied, unsmiling.

What? Was he playing at riddles with her? She had always enjoyed riddles. It had given her a secret thrill to realize that she was able to solve Professor Snape's task guarding the Philosopher's Stone...

_Focus!_ Harry and her mother both commanded sharply.

"Er, what did it _do?_" Yes. Excellent question. She was doing an excellent job.

Malfoy seemed every bit as dazed as she was. He cocked his head to the side and stepped closer to her.

"I could show you."

She blinked at him. He moved closer and bent to tilt her chin up with two fingers. His eyes were roving over her face again, and her body as well, and she could see every fleck of blue in his gray eyes and see his breath coalesce in the air between them. She had never really thought of him as simply another person, rather than Harry's nemesis, but when he was this close it was impossible to deny.

"You can't stop, can you?" she said, unsurprised to find that she was whispering. He looked at her quizzically. "The fog's charmed. There must be some sort of truth serum in it."

His face lit up but he did not let go of her. Instead he gripped her chin and tilted it this way and that to peer into her eyes.

"I think you're right, Granger," he drawled. "So since I've got this opportunity, why don't you tell me something. How did you get into the Lestranges's Gringott's vault during the war?"

"W-Why ask me _that?_" Of all the questions...

He grimaced but an answer seemed torn from him against his will. "I told you I was trying to get into the Department of Mysteries to retrieve something. That something was taken from the Malfoy family vaults at Gringott's. Same protective enchantments as the Lestranges. Not many people could have gotten through. How did you do it?"

"I turned into your dear aunt Bellatrix," said Hermione at once. Then she frowned. "There was no report of a Gringott's break-in. Why didn't you tell me this in the first place?"

He snorted. "You wouldn't have exactly helped me, Granger, would you? You'd have fucking made something up."

She wanted very much to protest, but she quite literally could not lie. No, perhaps she would not have helped him. Hermione opened her mouth to ask what the missing item was, but Malfoy pressed his finger against her lips, hushing her. Her skin tingled.

"You turned into Bellatrix?" he said sharply.

"Polyjuice potion." She grinned. "I'm good with Polyjuice. I brewed some in second year to turn Harry and Ron into Crabbe and Goyle and have them interrogate you. We thought you were the heir of Slytherin."

This was downright boastful. Hermione was horrified with herself, but she could not stop. Malfoy looked transfixed. He slid the pad of his finger down to her bottom lip and lingered there in an experimental sort of way, and all Hermione's senses were still in overload and she could not repress a shiver that had nothing to do with the cold.

_A blind leap into the fray._

That was when a heavy net fell from the sky and landed on their heads, trapping them against the ground.

* * *

A grizzled man sitting on a wooden chair at the center of a circle of hooded figures with drawn wands. An aura of unnatural calm.

"We are truly sorry to have to employ these measures, Mr Robards."

"I don't doubt it."

Standing up, walking to the center of the circle with an old man's stoop. A hand reaching into a pocket and withdrawing a fistful of sparkling black powder.

A room suddenly plunged into impenetrable darkness. The _whoosh_ of magic and a series of bangs followed by a startled yelp.

"What in Merlin's name—"

Daylight returning abruptly to reveal a thin man with untidy black hair and glasses standing in the spot occupied by Robards a moment ago, flanked by another man with red hair. A single hooded man kneeling before him.

"Oh hellfire. Oh, I'm done for."

"Let's not be too dramatic, shall we? Now, you're going to take me to your boss."

"Not a chance."

"Let me rephrase. You're going to do exactly as I say or I'll have you thrown in a cell in the deepest level of Azkaban I can find. Cell block D should do. Ron, remind me who else is imprisoned on cell block D."

"Greyback. Lestrange. Macnair."

A face drained of color. A silence thick with fear.

"Well, fine, if that's what you really want..."

"I—No, wait! I'll do it!"

A satisfied smile.

"That's more like it."

* * *

Hermione and Malfoy were suspended together in mid-air, pressed uncomfortably close and swinging dizzyingly from side to side. Hermione's ankle was caught in a snare in the net and sent constant darts of agony straight up her leg. Malfoy kept commenting, unhelpfully, on the fact that they would be much better off with the use of their wands. As if the thought had not crossed her mind...

She scanned the darkening hills, attempting to keep a firm hold on her thoughts, which kept wandering in a hundred directions under the influence of the mist. After what felt like hours a man in rags limped out from behind a hill and stood beneath them, his wand raised in a shaking fist.

"What do you want?" the man cried in a wavering voice. He looked familiar but Hermione could not place him in the darkness.

"We want to be let down," she replied, talking over Malfoy's much less polite introduction. "We can't hurt you, look." She pulled out her wand and, waving it, shouted several spells to no effect. The man's eyes widened and he rocked back on his heels, muttering to himself. After what looked like a heated conversation with two sides between a single man, he waved his wand and Hermione fell painfully to the ground, entangled with Malfoy.

"Let me do the talking," she hissed in his ear, scrambling to her feet to face the ragged man. Malfoy did not look at all pleased by this suggestion, but as Hermione studied the man she realized who he was and elbowed the former hard in the ribs. There was a way out of this, she was sure of it.

"Who're you?" the ragged man demanded, brandishing his wand with such an air of hysteria that she suspected he would not be able to remember to use it in a bind.

_Answer with as vague a truth as possible. _

"I'm Hermione Granger, and this is a Death Eater."

Malfoy stiffened at her side but said nothing. The ragged man recoiled, eyeing Malfoy with abject hatred that rippled off him in waves. If she squinted she thought she could see the color of his disgust: it was a dark, murky purple.

_Stop it!_ she chastised herself. It was terribly uncomfortable to lose control of her own mind this way.

"And you're Damocles Chiswick, aren't you?" Hermione said. When he did not seem to hear her she added, "I know you don't have to answer. You charmed this fog yourself, didn't you? You're a very talented wizard. I recognize you from your picture in the _Daily Prophet_. I know you were unjustly accused."

"I have to find the test subjects!" Chiswick shrieked suddenly, sparks erupting from the end of his wand. "I have to eliminate them all, I have to destroy the project! The First Wand was right. It will only lead to death and suffering!"

He fired off a bright red curse that missed Hermione by inches. Malfoy twitched but Hermione shook her head infinitesimally.

"I wouldn't hurt us if I were you," Hermione warned, jerking her head towards Malfoy. "He's dangerous, you know. He's been assigned to murder by Voldemort himself. He's cursed and tortured lots of people."

She hoped Malfoy knew that she was doing this for his own good, to attempt to secure his safe escape. She hated the harshness in her own voice a little. Malfoy was practically radiating discomfort next to her. Waves of pale silver that melded with the fog—

_Constant vigilance!_ Chiswick had lowered his wand by a fraction.

"_Not_... a test subject?" he said.

"Well—Er, I don't really know what you mean." Damn, she had been doing so well. But her tongue was formulating answers before she could stop it. She should not have revealed weakness. Chiswick pounced on her mistake at once.

"Then he's one of _theirs?_" he asked shrilly, brandishing his wand again.

His lips were forming a curse and Hermione stepped in front of Malfoy instinctively, but her ankle twinged and she stumbled. Chiswick's eyes snapped to her feet.

"Weak," he said in an undertone, as if to himself. "_You're_ the test subject!"

"What? No, I—"

"_Impedimenta!_" Chiswick shouted, and Hermione was thrown back against Malfoy as the spell hit her square in the chest. She felt as though she had been punched with an iron fist, and for all that she struggled she could not move more than a millimeter at a time. It felt like trying to run in a dream. Malfoy held her up by her shoulders, his eyes wide, clearly at a loss for what to do.

_Just throw a punch!_ Hermione wanted to scream at him. Chiswick looked as though he might collapse from a light breeze. Unfortunately he also looked unhinged enough to begin firing off Unofrgivables if provoked.

"Don't move," Chiswick warned Malfoy, seizing Hermione and beginning to drag her away. "I—I'll kill you, I will!"

Any second now Malfoy would spring into action. Surely he would do something. But as Hermione waited, helpless, he simply stood and watched her disappear with a stricken expression.

_Told you_, said Ron smugly.

Chiswick's grip on the back of her neck was painful and Hermione's limbs were impossibly sluggish and she was going to wring Malfoy's bloody neck when she came back to her senses. Once they had made it a fair distance around the fog-laden hill Chiswick shoved her through a dense thicket of bushes that turned out to be a hidden entrance to a sort of overgrown hollow where Chiswick had made his ramshackle home. Hermione saw a number of animal carcasses, some decomposing and some dressed rather poorly to form crude pelts. A hole had been dug in the roof of the hollow to form a skylight that looked out upon the enchanted sky.

Thankful that the Impediment jinx could not actually lock her jaw, Hermione spat, "What _is_ this place?"

"Safe," Chiswick muttered, dumping her unceremoniously into a corner. "Have to keep you here, wait, see if you change. Not many have survived the first change."

Hermione wondered how he had managed to lose the power of coherent speech so quickly. He had been here no more than three weeks, she was certain.

"Change?" she pressed, noticing a slight tingling in her fingers and preparing herself for the moment when she could move properly again.

"Look at the stars." Chiswick's eyes rolled madly in his head. "Less than a fortnight until the full moon. They don't want us to know. They built this place moonless to keep us in the dark."

Hermione's insides turned to a pit of snakes, coiling and uncoiling with icy dread.

"The full moon," she repeated in a hush. "You—You can't mean that you're a—"

"I was not meant to survive the change. They went too far. The pain was terrible."

_Harry, oh Harry. Ron. Please help me._ She closed her eyes.

"It's true, isn't it," she said. "You're a were—"

Hermione opened her eyes just in time to see Chiswick bring a heavy branch down on her head, and then her vision went dark and she fell into unconsciousness.

* * *

**A/N:** Some of you may be unhappy with Draco's choice in this chapter, but I maintain that it's important to appreciate him for his true character (flawed) rather than the romanticized hero he's often built up to be, which means that his growth must be slow. Don't worry, this story is only at about the halfway mark, so there's still plenty of time for him to redeem himself. Thank you to all who reviewed: **JMLMonkey, yourxenium, SavvyJackie, justy13, MattsMarshMello, likelurking, JM2010, Moriarsh, kaname's harisen, Narcissa Black Malfoy, ArtemisGoddess, Originals-Klaroline, Fortheloveofglitter, xXBeautiful TragedyXx, anononymas, everlastingtrueromance, dark-phoenix17, Lupinara, Forever Written in the Stars, Kennedy21...** Oh and I'd just like to mention that I've been super enjoying all your guesses about the mystery but after this chapter, try to keep in mind that this probably isn't going exactly where you think it is ;) Cheers!


	15. The Summit

**XV – The Summit**

_Rage and bloodlust and a blind leap. Immediate, searing pain._

"_Hermione, Her—argh!"_

_Claws ripping into her side, cutting into flesh and tendons and drawing agony with dark relish._

_A faint, desperate whisper. "Draco, I forbid you to get yourself killed. Do you hear me?"_

_A body draped over hers, arms holding her tight, sheltering her from the relentless blows. A protector straining not to attack._

* * *

"Granger. _Granger!_"

The first thing Hermione knew when she opened her eyes was that she was certain she would vomit at any moment.

"If you're going to hurl do it away from me," drawled a voice that made her want to throw something violently at the wall.

Malfoy was kneeling next to her, pinching her shoulder in an effort to wake her up. She gestured wildly for him to back away, turned her head, and threw up the meager contents of her stomach onto the pile of twigs at her side.

_Oh, brilliant, very attractive,_ he said coolly in her head, and Hermione jumped, realizing a moment later that the real Malfoy had not spoken. Wiping her mouth off with the back of her sleeve, she clenched her jaw and forced herself to her feet, testing her weight experimentally on her ankle. Chiswick must have mended it while she was unconscious, though he had done a poor job. She could now walk but her leg felt stiff and sore as though her very bones had been shattered to a million pieces and sown back together.

"Well, _let's go,_" said Malfoy impatiently, gesturing at the door.

Hermione's vision was still blurry. Chiswick's unnatural fog had lifted, and with it any semblance of artificial cheer. Hermione could not bring herself to look at Malfoy for fear of succumbing to impotent rage. Engaging in a brief wrestling match with the unsightly snarl of her hair to avoid the sight of him, she stomped out of Chiswick's hollow without a word.

Malfoy was following behind her, but Hermione very pointedly increased her pace, keeping her shoulders squared and her chin high in the air. If he thought that he could continue tagging along making derisive remarks after having abandoned her at a whim, he had another thing coming.

"Care to tell me just where the hell you're going?" Malfoy called after her.

She ignored him, her only acknowledgment an irritable sniff. Malfoy's hand fell onto her shoulder and she shrugged him off a little more aggressively than she had meant to.

"You might have warned me that concussions make you an ever bigger bitch than usual," he snapped, and at this Hermione whipped around.

"Go_—away—_Malfoy," she hissed, punctuating each word with a menacing step forward so that Malfoy backtracked a little in accordance.

"Don't tell me you're hacked off about Chiswick?"

"What part of go away don't you understand—"

"He threatened to bloody kill me in case you didn't—"

"Oh yes, a jumpy, terrified old man, he was such a threat—"

"Well _I'm here now_, aren't I?" Malfoy burst out angrily, and Hermione faltered. He looked at once determined and reluctant. Her brow knitted together and she looked back in the direction of the hollow.

"How did you get past Chiswick?"

"Slit his throat when he wasn't looking."

Hermione's nails dug into her palms and she let out a little shriek. "Oh, that's lovely! Attack your opponent when their back's turned!"

"It was a _joke_, Granger. I waited until he went out hunting."

"And I suppose I can count on you to sit back and _wait_ the next time I get dragged off by a madman, too?"

"I don't—" He stopped himself and took a shuddering breath, the look in his eyes suddenly breaking. "You _can't_ count on me, Granger. What sort of fairytale are you living in?"

Hermione's shoulders slumped. He was right; she was being irrational. They had formed an alliance out of necessity, and it would be dangerous for her to begin thinking that he actually had her back. She did not even know where the notion had come from.

"I'm not under any illusions, Malfoy," she said gently. "I'm just waiting for the part where you'll leave me be and go away like I asked."

Malfoy did not flinch. He did not move at all. But she saw his Adam's apple bob up and down as he swallowed. It looked painful.

"Well tough fucking luck," he replied. "This place is what we've got to deal with. I'd be long gone if I could."

There was nothing she could say. Her head felt leaden and her mouth was excessively dry. She licked her lips and Malfoy's eyes darted to follow the movement. When she turned and started to climb the mountain he followed behind her at a reasonable distance, emanating an aura of extreme dissatisfaction.

The climb was slow and painstaking. The mountain slope seemed to grow steeper with each step they took, and once they had crested the first ridge and surmounted the layer of low-hanging fog most of the vegetation began to shrivel up, so that they had dusty, treacherous rock slides to contend with. Hermione kept her eyes straight ahead and pictured some fabulous reward at the top of the mountain: the Burrow, perhaps, or the Gryffindor common room. Smiling faces and a warm hearth.

By the time she collapsed at the summit it was nearly dawn. A painted sunrise was tinting the horizon deep pink and orange ridged with rich, buttery yellow. It was a breathtaking sight, but Hermione was not moved. As Malfoy heaved himself up the last set of boulders behind her, she tilted her head up to frown at the proximity of the enchanted ceiling. The quality of the enchantments masking it were remarkable. Even with her eyes mere feet from it she felt she was looking at an ordinary sky. And yet...

A few flecks of earth detached themselves from the ceiling and landed on the tip of her nose.

"Merlin's pants!" she said at the top of her voice.

Malfoy very deliberately did not ask about her epiphany. She could tell that he was doing it just to annoy her, and refused to take the bait.

"Look at this!" Hermione insisted. "Do you know what this means? We're... We're underground!"

Malfoy crossed his arms. "Big surprise. All that time rubbing your nose raw against those library books and you never knew the Ministry was underground?"

"Of course I did. But I thought we'd been transported elsewhere. There are entire mountains and caves here..."

Malfoy shrugged. "It's possible to fit the equivalent of a small city in a space like the Great Hall."

"That's—Yes... How did you know that?"

"_Hogwarts, A History_, chapter seventeen. A headmaster recreated an Italian villa in the Great Hall during the renaissance as a demonstration to impress a student he was courting."

Hermione stared at him for a full ten seconds. "You've read _Hogwarts, A History_? When?"

"Does it fucking matter? It was on the course list in first year, wasn't it?"

"I—You—Right. Er, well I suppose it's possible, obviously. I just don't understand why." She looked up thoughtfully. "I wonder if it would be possible to tunnel our way out somehow."

Hermione raised her arm above her head and dug her hand into the loose earth, and Malfoy frowned, and then a jolt ran through her fingers straight to her heart and she began to scream.

* * *

Three pairs of ankles visible under the fluttering of an invisibility cloak. Feet shuffling impatiently.

"Are you sure this is the place?"

"Ron, if you ask that one more time I swear—"

"Shh, someone's coming."

Oncoming footsteps, clinking genteelly against the cobbled road. A shimmer of light golden hair and a swish of silk.

"Who goes there?"

The flourish of a cloak removed, followed by a gasp. A tall woman facing a shorter man with untidy dark hair, brimming with things unsaid.

"You're looking for Draco, I'm guessing?"

"And I suppose you must be looking for the Mudblood Granger?"

"_Watch it—_"

"Yes, we're looking for Hermione. You're going to have to move off, we're meeting some people here who could be dangerous."

"The First Wand and his second in command. My man has already infiltrated. This is no matter for arrogant children, and I will not be patronized. You will leave at once."

A pointed pause. "Do you _really_ think you can make us go? We'd be better off working together."

"I will not be intimidated."

"Ginny, put your wand down. This is really simple. You want your son back, don't you? We have a much better chance of succeeding if we pool our information."

A ponderous silence. Cold consideration and a stiff nod.

"If you would have my information, Potter, I will have payment in return."

A slight grimace. "Name your price."

* * *

_Claws ripping into her side, cutting into flesh._

Cold.

Darkness.

Cold and dark and fire and blood, alternating, relentless. Hermione's eyes were wide open but she did not register Malfoy rushing to her side and yanking her arm down from the enchanted ceiling. She could feel a dread building in her chest that wrenched deeper than any regular curse could.

It was as if someone had held a wand to her parent's head with the intent to kill, and she had said _Go ahead, what do I care? They're nothing to me._ It was as if Ron had torn his heart from his chest to save her and she had laughed and stomped on it with the heel of her foot. It was as if Harry had needed her and she had scurried to hide in the shadows, frightened and unwilling. But it was worse than all that. It was pure shame and sorrow and agony seeping into her bloodstream.

Memories of all her worst deeds began to play in her mind's eye: the evening of her seventh birthday, when she had accidentally set a girl's hair on fire after the girl had mocked her for being a bookworm; the day she had Obliviated her parents, leaving them behind with that dazed look in their eyes; the night in the tent some weeks after Ron had left, when she had packed all her things and stood watching Harry sleep, certain she meant to leave, only to come to her senses and return to her bed on tiptoe, never to tell a soul of her moment of weakness...

She could not stand to be in her own skin, living these images over and over again. Malfoy was shaking her but Hermione could barely see him. She began to claw at her neck and face and arms, her nails digging into her blouse and tearing the fabric.

_Granger the Know-It-All! Granger the Know-It-All!_ And then a burst of screams, shrill with shock.

_Hermione, dear, what are you doing? Why do you have your wand out?_

Harry's face, creased with worry even in sleep, the weight of the world pressing down on him...

"Make it stop!" she heard herself scream, and she dropped to her knees and dug her fists into the dirt, tearing her nails ragged. "I can't stand it, _make it stop!_"

A burst of screams. _Hermione, dear, what are you doing?_ Harry sleeping.

"Make it stop!"

Malfoy slapped her across the face, hard. She was too far gone to feel the pain, though her cheek felt warm, but his face came slightly more into focus, and she clung to it as an anchor to reality.

_Hermione, dear?_

"Focus, Granger, fucking focus," Malfoy was saying. "_What_ is happening? Work it out."

Something dreadful, something unbearable. A very clever and complex curse. Hadn't Harry described something similar happening to Dumbledore in the cave with the Horcrux? A curse that made one cry and lose their mind, relive horrors deeply buried.

"Feel like... I want to die," she choked out. "Can't stop... seeing things. Bad things."

Perhaps the curse would run its course. Perhaps she only had to wait out its effects.

As if in response to her small ray of hope an icy hand clutched at her heart and squeezed, and she yelled out, clawing at her forearms and beating her fists against her head. It was not enough, so she delved into her pocket and produced her wand, hitting it violently against the ground, wondering if it would break—the empty, _useless _thing.

"Stop that! Stop—fuck. _Fuck._"

Someone was speaking to her. Malfoy. She blinked at him and wondered whether she had now progressed to hallucinations, because he had clasped his hands together behind her neck and was rubbing up and down, warming her and sending a tingle down her spine. He reached up with one hand and brushed his fingers over her eyes, slowly pressing her eyelids closed, while with his other hand he forced her shoulders down from their panicked hunch.

_Know-It-All, Granger!_ Harry sleeping, small and alone.

"Stop," Malfoy repeated, very close to her ear, and she felt steady hands close around her own now, stilling them and folding her arms against her chest with her wand still clutched in her grip. She must have torn her blouse to bits, because next she felt warm breath flutter over her stomach.

Hermione opened her eyes and realized that Malfoy had sat her down on a mound of earth and was kneeling in front of her. She had rested her chin on top of his head and he was speaking quiet words of reassurance, keeping her arms folded together.

She rested this way without moving for a long time as the curse died away, catching her breath and waiting for her heartbeat to return to normal. The air was cold but Malfoy was warm, and she felt unaccountably safe pressed against him. Gradually, however, she became acutely conscious that her blouse was hanging open and that Malfoy was no longer speaking. She took a shuddering breath and pulled back a little, and he raised his head.

She had not expected to be unable to look away.

His gaze was like a roar of flames, consuming all her thoughts into nothingness. The only real thing was his skin on her skin. Hermione did not understand what was happening, and that alone was a frightening thought, but there was no room in her head for thinking. Her heart was pounding painfully hard again and she felt lightheaded.

A sort of slow panic came into Malfoy's eyes as he realized what he had done for her, how close they had been. He let out a harsh gasp and his hands closed around Hermione's wrists, fingers digging painfully into her skin. It took her by surprise, and as she let out a little yelp red sparks shot from the end of her wand.

Hermione's eyes went wide and she jumped back, raising her wand high. Malfoy looked completely dazed, but there was a glimmer of excitement in his eyes as he realized what the sparks meant.

"_Lumos,_" Hermione breathed. Her wand tip lit up. "Yes! _Lumos! Nox! Lumos!_"

Her wandlight flickered on and off and she could very nearly have _hugged _the thin strip of wood she had so recently been ready to snap in half. The tumult of her emotions at the curse forgotten, she waved her wand through the air, making ribbons of colour drift behind it and mending her torn blouse in a trice.

"Thank Merlin!" She looked at Malfoy to see whether he was sharing in her exultation, and saw that he had begun to twirl his own wand through his fingers until it was a blur.

"What...?"

"Doesn't work," Malfoy drawled nonchalantly. She was not fooled: she could tell from his voice that he was equal parts devastated and furious. Hermione looked up at the ceiling.

"A great emotional shock," she said quietly. Yes, she had certainly received one of those.

Malfoy's eyes followed hers and he looked at the ceiling intently.

"No!" she protested. "Don't do it, it's awful!"

But he was not listening. His eyes were trained on the ceiling with single-minded determination.

* * *

**A/N:** I am so very much enjoying all your theories, guys. I do read all of them. Thanks heaps to: **yourxenium, rachelariel17, JMLMonkey, heffy, justy13, SummerLove16, ArtemisGoddess, Moriarsh, Reader** (Why does Malfoy have to be so erg? My guess is daddy issues ;P), **Jadepowell, IDanceToForget** (Forgot to mention- so funny you speak of Jack and Kate. I was always thinking more of Sawyer in relation to Malfoy. Oh old shipping wars!), **MattsMarshMello** (Now all I can picture is Draco with a santa costume, trying to steal Christmas...),** xXBeautiful TragedyXx, N0601859, Guest, everlastingtrueromance** (omgosh thank you for sticking with this story from the first chapter, you rock!), **SavvyJackie, Lupinara** (Your guesses are SO CLOSE!), **Thomatshu, anononymas, Originals-Klaroline, Preciousblue, Guest, hogwartsheadcase** (Ugh, I LOVE writing Draco's pov, I really wish I could do it with this fic. But it would reveal too many plot points. So sad...), **Insanegirl190, dark-phoenix17** (I have not read any Madeline L'Engle but I will be sure to look her up! Thanks so much!)... You're all supermegafoxyawesomehot like Cho Chang! Cheers :)


	16. Heat Lightning

**XVI – Heat Lightning**

_Rising slowly from unconsciousness. The metallic smell of blood and fear. Steely eyes watching her from the corner._

"_What happened?"_

_Darting glances to an unconscious shape lying in a heap nearby. Glassy eyes. Blood pooling sticky and cold across the stone floor._

"_Did you—?"_

"_Did I? Hmm."_

* * *

"Malfoy, you don't understand," said Hermione desperately. "You don't want to do this, believe me."

"Easy for the one with the working wand to say."

"No, listen. It makes you relive all your worst moments, the worst things you've ever done. You'll—" She stopped herself and bit her lip.

Malfoy's eyes narrowed. "Yeah, got it, thanks. The worst things I've done make your worst moments look like stroking a puppy."

"That's not—" But Malfoy cut her off with a glare and, his eyes never leaving hers, reached up slowly to dig his hand into the earthen ceiling.

His scream was one of the most blood-curdling sounds she had ever heard. Not since Ginny had seen Harry carried out of the Forbidden Forest by Hagrid, apparently dead, had Hermione heard such a scream. His legs gave out beneath him and he clawed at his face and whipped his head back against the ground, howling as though his insides were on fire. Hermione could not help it: she began to tremble.

"No, no, no no, no," Malfoy moaned, closing his eyes and tearing at his collar. "No, don't make me do it. Please. _Don't make me do it!_"

Hermione could imagine what he was seeing all too easily. Unfortunately, she could also imagine his voice carrying all the way down the mountain into the valley, attracting unwanted attention. She attempted to take hold of Malfoy's shoulders to aim a silencing charm at him, but he flailed his arm and caught the edge of her jaw with his fist, knocking her aside. Thunder rumbled as Hermione fell to the ground, and in the distance she saw a flash of lightning.

_Oh, damn it all._ She cringed. Merlin only knew what kind of storm this nightmare of a place might unleash. For once Hermione thought it might actually be beneficial to uncover another of those doorways to a different place, just to get away from the malevolence of these mountains and from Chiswick.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Malfoy said in a pained voice, curling up on the ground and rocking back and forth. "PLEASE, I'M SORRY!"

Hermione took a deep breath. He had helped calm her. Surely she could do the same? She tried loosening his collar, running her fingers through his hair, muttering half-hearted words of comfort of the sort her mother had once used when she was very young and frightened of thunder. She grasped Malfoy's hands and forced them against his sides, hoping to hold him still, but he whimpered and whipped his head back and forth. He looked so very young with terror in his eyes. Another flash of lightning illuminated the mountaintop and fat, warm drops of water began to pelt the ground.

"Malfoy, stop, _stop_, it's not real," said Hermione desperately as his nails dug into her hands and nearly broke skin. "None of it is real!"

He screamed and his voice mingled with the thunder. Hermione began to grow carried away, and she brushed her lips against his forehead and smoothed his hair from his face and fought to keep him from thrashing in the storm. She fought in vain, but she fought valiantly.

Then a snarling, bone-chilling noise rose over the echoing thunder, and Hermione's heart sank. Letting go of Malfoy completely, she turned to face Chiswick, whose face was contorted in a mad grimace. His eyes were rolling in his head, and his wand hand was shaking so violently that he looked as though he had been hit with a tremor hex. Perhaps he had been drawn by Malfoy's screams. But Hermione could not understand how he had climbed the mountain so quickly.

"Mr Chiswick," she said clearly, trying for a sane dialogue to begin with, "you're not well, but you can get control of this. Just—Just take a deep breath and—"

He charged. Hermione sent a series of non-verbal stunners at him, which he dodged with disconcerting speed. Another flash of lightning struck the mountain and for a moment Chiswick's shadow was thrown into sharp relief, grotesquely elongated, so that he looked positively monstrous.

"_Impedimenta!_" Hermione screamed as he took a running leap and dove at her head first. Why was he not attacking her with magic?

"Eliminate the test subjects," she heard him mutter to himself even as she dodged his attack and he rolled across the ground. "All of them. Eliminate them. Too dangerous."

"I'm not a test subject!" Hermione insisted, casting a stinging hex that just skimmed his side, so that he growled in pain and clutched at his ribs. At last Chiswick seemed to remember that he had a wand, and cast a most unpleasant curse at her, which she blocked and parried with another stunner. He deflected the beam of red light, which very nearly hit Malfoy. The latter seemed to come to himself slightly at the threat and jumped to the side, running into Chiswick in the process. Hermione took advantage of the distraction to yell "_Expelliarmus!_" and Chiswick's wand came soaring into her hands.

That spell really did come in handy, Hermione thought disjointedly, taking a moment to collect herself. But already Chiswick had rallied. With a primal grunt he launched himself at her, bold and wandless and insane, and Hermione was forced to conjure ropes from midair to bind themselves around his arms and legs.

"Please sit still, Mr Chiswick," she instructed sternly, levitating him into a sitting position. "It'll only be worse if you struggle."

Chiswick did not seem to share her penchant for reasoned argument. As he growled and fought to get free of his bonds, so too did Malfoy continue to convulse at his side. Hermione looked upon the pair of them and listened to thunder rumble ominously overhead, trying to decide what to do.

* * *

_WIZENGAMOT DECISION REVERSED; FAMILY FORTUNE RELEASED TO CUSTODY OF EX-CONVICT MALFOY PATRIARCH._

_The Daily Prophet has learned exclusively today of a bizarre turn of events which has many questioning the Wizengamot's judgment. In a surprise move this morning Supreme Mugwump Aldrich Thurkell ruled to unfreeze all Malfoy family assets, to be released for unconditional use by pardoned Death Eater Lucius Malfoy and his wife Narcissa. Said gold had been locked away just one week previously following a new series of inquiries into Death Eater activity during the war. While neither of the aforementioned parties have served time in Azkaban for their allegedly coerced allegiance with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, the Minsitry had on Friday frozen all family funds and sealed the Malfoy vault at Gringott's pending further investigation. The reversal of this order came as a surprise to Senior Undersecretary to the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Carlisle Belby._

"_Frankly, I reckon it's outrageous, and I'll be lookin' into a full inquiry," Belby assured us before departing for a meeting with his personal Seer._

_In an even more shocking twist, however, we can now report upon the identity of the figure in charge of the release of the Malfoy funds: none other, in fact, than Harry Potter of the Auror Office. Known for his elusiveness and refusal to engage with the press, Potter was nonetheless spotted conferring with key Wizengamot members mere hours before the decision was announced. The question now without a doubt on everyone's minds: what motivated Potter's abrupt change of heart on the seizure of funds to which he had previously given his full support, and does he owe the public an explanation?_

_For more on Harry Potter's illegal underage submission of his name to the Tri-Wizard tournament, see pages 2 and 6..._

* * *

Malfoy's screams did not cease until sundown. After a full twelve hours he finally seemed to regain his senses and sat up, his hair plastered to his face and his eyes dazed. By this time Hermione's patience had run out and she had stunned Chiswick to keep him quiet, so she had nothing to do but watch Malfoy carefully for a reaction.

He sat trembling on the mountaintop for several minutes. When he had gotten control of himself he immediately he reached for his wand and tried sending a shower of sparks into the air. Silver and green erupted from his wand tip and he closed his eyes in a gesture of tremendous relief.

"Are you all right?" asked Hermione cautiously. "I—That lasted a lot longer than—Are you...?"

"Never better," he said quietly, performing healing spells upon the various scratches and bruises he had inflicted upon himself.

"Well, er, I mean... I told you it was a bad idea." Oh, she should not have said it that way. Hermione cursed whatever instinct compelled her, always, to impress her omniscience upon others. _I_ was _right, though_, she argued with herself. But that was not what he needed to hear. Curiously, Malfoy only shrugged.

"It was a great idea."

"What? But—That was awful!"

"I've had worse."

"Malfoy, you've just had a great shock and I really think you should—"

"Tell you to nose the fuck out of my business? Yeah, I was just thinking the same."

He would not look at her. Was he remembering the way she had kissed his forehead and laced her fingers through his, she wondered? Was he upset? She had simply needed him to snap out of it. He had done the same for her: any means necessary. That was all.

"Do you, er, remember what you saw?" she tried. She did not particularly want to know, but it might do him some good to speak it out loud. Harry always tried to put on a stoic front when he was upset, but he was invariably more at ease when things came out in the open.

Malfoy looked at her like she was insane.

"Is that a fucking joke?" he asked harshly, his voice cracking. He conjured a goblet of water and drained it in one, then smashed it against the ground rather than vanishing it, still glaring daggers at Hermione.

"I just thought... Look, I saw the day I erased myself from my parents' memories, for example, and that wasn't, you know, a pleasant thing to see. But it helps to—to—" Hermione faltered under the look of death Malfoy was giving her.

"You think I'm going to pour all my secrets out to you all of a sudden?" he demanded, his voice rising dangerously. "Granger, are you out of your fucking mind? Like there's anything I wouldn't have done to get my magic back..."

She reached for his arm instinctively, appalled and feeling an inexplicable need to rectify the situation between them, but he recoiled.

"I was just trying to return the favor," said Hermione unsteadily. "You helped me."

"So your fucking screeching wouldn't bring _him_," Malfoy retorted, nodding at Chiswick.

"You're making it sound like—"

"Bloody _let it go_, already—"

"Both of us—"

"Just because I let a hallucination of you suck my cock doesn't mean we're suddenly confidants!" he burst out before cutting himself off abruptly and clamping his lips shut. His nostrils flared and his breathing was shallow.

Hermione stared and stared and stared at him. She had heard him wrong. She must have. When she had wondered what he could have seen while she hallucinated Harry, she had not imagined for a moment... And yet he had behaved so oddly. She could feel her cheeks burning and turned away from him.

The rain had stopped. A painfully uncomfortable silence swelled between them.

"I think I know how to find the next doorway out," Hermione piped up when she could stand it no longer, cringing at how stilted her voice sounded to her own ears.

"How's that?" Malfoy asked, his tone equally forced.

"The lightning. Nothing that happens here is by accident. The berries, the skeleton in the cave: they were all like... clues. Like this is some sort of challenge or test. And you must have noticed the doorways between each place are getting more difficult to find. That's why I thought..."

She chose a direction at random and sent a burst of lightning shooting out from the end of her wand. It sailed off into the distance to no effect.

"Hmm." Hermione frowned while Draco tapped his foot impatiently. It was inexpressibly irritating. "Point me," she murmured to her wand, and it swiveled in her palm like the needle of a compass.

"What are you doing?" asked Malfoy without looking at her.

"We've been traveling due north since we entered the forest. Haven't you been watching the stars?"

"They're not real stars!"

"No, but they're in the same position, exactly the same. Aha!" Hermione's newest bolt of lightning had struck something. On the ridge of the next mountain over, it had hit what looked like a solid, invisible wall, turning the contours of this barrier momentarily bright white with electric charge. Hermione nodded triumphantly and knelt by Chiswick, pointing her wand at his temple.

"_Confundus,_" she said before severing the poor man's bonds so that he would be able to free himself when he woke up.

"Shit, Granger, if you don't have the stomach to kill him at least Obliviate him! He tried to fucking kill us!"

"Would you like to kill him, then?" Hermione asked quietly, and Malfoy's eyes darted to hers at last. Their gazes held for a moment too long, and he dropped his first. "I'm not Obliviating him because he has important information, and I don't want to risk addling his memory and erasing it. When we get out of here I'm going to send someone back in after him and find out what he knows."

She waited for Malfoy to protest. To defy her in defense of his pride. He said nothing.

Hermione nodded. "Come on, let's go."

The journey to the next mountaintop was a lot quicker than the first, as Hermione was able to simply wave her wand and conjure a bridge across the distance that separated them. Malfoy looked most reluctant to set foot on it at first, so with a roll of her eyes Hermione walked confidently from one end to the other without looking back. The miniature version of Ron in her head was sorely tempted to give the bridge a good shake just to scare Malfoy, but she resisted. This was no time for nonsense.

When they had arrived at the second ridge Hermione walked slowly with her hands extended in front of her until she felt an obstruction.

"_Specialis revelio!_" she said, rapping her wand against the obstacle, and an ornate cherry wood door appeared out of nowhere. It was not attached to a house, or any other structure for that matter. It was simply a door.

Malfoy gritted his teeth. "Get ready for it."

And sure enough, the moment Hermione's knuckles touched the doorknob she felt the all-too-familiar blinding headache bloom behind her temples, and had to bite down on her cheek to avoid crying out. When the pain had subsided she opened the door and stepped through, Malfoy one step behind her.

"This is... not what I expected," said Hermione in a very small voice.

They were standing on a sandy beach with a sea of calm azure waves stretching out before them, and a forest of palm trees looming behind them. The artificial sun beat down mercilessly from overhead. There was not a cloud in sight to blemish the sky.

"Fantastic," Malfoy drawled. His face looked even paler than usual in the dazzling light of the tropical sun. "I've always dreamed of getting killed by fucking _sand._"

"Don't look a gift horse in the mouth," Hermione muttered absent-mindedly, examining her surroundings.

"_What?_"

"Oh, never mind." She cast a non-verbal _Homenum revelio_ and stiffened at once. "Malfoy, take out your wand! Take out your wand now!"

Malfoy raised his wand in defense without a moment's hesitation. Figures were emerging from the trees, straggling cautiously towards them in twos and threes, whispering urgently to one another. Many of them were quite young, and all were dressed casually in blue jeans and trainers. They were eyeing Hermione and Malfoy's robes with avid curiosity. Something clicked.

"Never mind, never mind, put your wand away!" Hermione hissed, and Malfoy looked exasperated.

"What the fuck?" he asked her angrily.

There were over a dozen of the newcomers gathered together, all told. They stood in a circle around Hermione and Malfoy, looking wary but not particularly frightened. They had an air of vague insouciance about them that confirmed Hermione's suspicions.

"Because," she whispered to Malfoy, "they're Muggles."

* * *

**A/N:** I know many of you were expecting more extensive trauma from Draco. However (and this is directly from interviews with JKR) he is someone who is extremely good at compartmentalizing and suppressing his emotions (he would have to be, considering his views and what he's experienced). I have firm plans to bring his guilt to the fore in a later chapter, but for now he is sticking with denial, because horrible as that curse may be, unfortunately, he's been through worse when he lived it and still came out in denial... Mkay, now that's out of the way, huge thanks as always to everyone who reviewed! **Preciousblue, justy13, SavvyJackie, Flew, everlastingtrueromance, abcd1225, kaname's harisen, Originals-Klaroline, ArtemisGoddess, rachelariel17, MattsMarshMello, buttercup, Lupinara, anononymas, Fortheloveofglitter, IDanceToForget, yourxenium, Moriarsh, likelurking, Singtoangels1, Jadepowell, dark-phoenix17, Ari, JMLMonkey...** Next chapter is a beach party with volleyball and co-eds! (No, no, just kidding, but I do think you'll enjoy it.) Cheers :)


	17. The Castaways

**XVII – The Castaways**

"_Did I? Hmm. Did I what, Hermione?"_

_A man slumped in a pool of blood. Standing on shaky legs, she brings a hand to her shoulder and feels an aching wound._

"_Did you... You—You know what I mean."_

_Narrowed eyes and a fleeting look of hurt or betrayal. A shrug._

"_Would have. Didn't get the chance."_

_A figure stirring in the shadows._

* * *

"Are you off your rocker? Muggles, _here?_"

"What've you got that little strip of wood for?" asked one of the women watching them, pointing at Malfoy's wand curiously. His jaw jutted out, and Hermione tried not to look too smug.

"They're just good luck charms," chirped Hermione, pasting a bright smile on her face. "I'm Hermione Granger, and this is Draco Malfoy. Would you be able to tell us, er, where we are?"

"Our cruise ship washed up in a storm, dear," the same woman responded, while several others nodded dejectedly. She had a matronly air and looked to be in charge of the motley collection of castaways. "We've been waiting for a rescue, but we've been able to make ourselves quite comfortable in the meanwhile. You two must've had yourselves a bit of a shipwreck too, yes? You're welcome to stay, of course!"

"Cruise ship?" Malfoy whispered to Hermione, sounding rather confused.

"Like a Muggle vacation on a boat. Just let me do the talking."

For once Malfoy looked agreeable to this suggestion. Hermione hastily confirmed that yes, their ship had capsized in a storm. Their hair and clothes were still wet from the thunderstorm on the mountain, lending credence to her story.

"Well, come along then, dears," said the woman, ushering them forward. She had a kind, plain, no-nonsense sort of face that reminded Hermione painfully of Molly Weasley. "M'name's Agatha Jones. You'll meet everyone in a bit, but you'll want to get yourselves cleaned up first, no doubt. We've got a nice spare room, perfect for a young couple like yourselves..."

"Oh, Merlin, no!" Malfoy exclaimed, startling Agatha Jones with a vehement shake of his head. He and Hermione jumped apart, realizing a moment too late that they had been walking very near each other with their shoulders almost brushing. "We're not—We don't—"

"We're not a couple," Hermione agreed hastily.

Agatha observed them intently for a moment, then shrugged. "Well, if you say so, dears. I've got two little rooms by the picnic area, if you'd prefer." As she turned to continue leading the way Hermione heard her mutter, "_Merlin?_"

She led them through the trees past a clearing. Hermione craned her neck and took in, to her amazement, the sight of a small, thriving village of huts built from bamboo and palm fronds, complete with a complex system of pulleys for the transfer of water from one end of the camp to the other. Hermione felt a prickle at the back of her neck and turned to see one of the Muggles watching her rather than looking on proudly at the establishment like the others. He had sharp brown eyes and looked a little like Percy Weasley, though much less pompous.

She cataloged everything about his appearance and his expression, made a mental note of it, and filed it away for future contemplation. In the meantime, Agatha had led them to a pair of small but tidy huts on the outskirts of the village, pleasantly situated in the shade of a cluster of palm trees.

"We all like to pitch in with meals," Agatha informed them. "A nice little community activity, you know. There's to be a dinner over a bonfire tonight, if you'd like to make your way down to the beach when you're settled in. I'm sure we'd all be glad to hear your story."

Hermione just knew Malfoy was rolling his eyes behind her, without having to look. After many thank-you's and don't-mention-it's, Agatha chivvied the other castaways back towards their respective huts. The man Hermione had caught watching her before bumped into her shoulder lightly as he left and she felt him slip something into her hand. When he had gone she smoothed out the crumpled note and read it quickly in her head.

_Beach. Midnight. Come alone._

"What's that?" asked Malfoy sharply. Hermione looked up, startled. She had almost forgotten he was there, but now that they were alone together she found she could barely look at him.

_Just because I let a hallucination of you—_

"Just a note," she said hastily, grappling with her reeling thoughts. "Someone who could potentially have some information."

She made to stuff the piece of paper in her pocket but Malfoy was too quick.

"_Accio!_" he said, and the note soared between the outraged Hermione's fingers right into his hands. His smug expression faltered when he read what it said.

"Why does he want to see you alone?" Malfoy asked with what Hermione considered undue aggression.

"I won't know until I speak to him, will I?"

"You're not going."

"_Excuse_ me?"

"I got here at the same time as you. Don't you think it's suspicious he wants to lure you out to the beach by yourself?"

Hermione scoffed. "Malfoy, I've got a wand. I doubt I have much to fear—"

"Who knows what he could be planning—"

"Oh for heaven's sake, I'm going and that's all—"

"Then I'm going too."

"The note says—"

"Fuck the note!"

_Just because I let..._

Hermione closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

"We'll see," she said before entering her hut and closing the ramshackle door a little too forcefully behind her.

* * *

"What have you done?"

"I did what I had to do."

A cold, unforgiving emptiness separating two wary individuals in a handsome parlour. A fire crackling lazily in the grate under the care of a battalion of slinking, bat-eared creatures.

"Narcissa—"

"You can rebuild your reputation, Lucius. Begin donating to the right causes again. Fall in with the right people. And we can _get Draco back._"

"But to form an alliance with _Harry Potter..._"

Hesitation, and a tired sigh.

"How well has opposing him worked for us in the past?"

Eyes closed. Recoiling as if struck.

"For Draco. Very well. What is—How is this arrangement to..." Faltering, unable to continue.

"First I need to discover which item was stolen from our vaults several weeks ago. The bank refused to acknowledge a break-in, but the wards—"

"Yes, yes, we can easily have the Elves take inventory."

An anxious pause.

"And I think the time has come for you to know what Draco did during the war."

"What Draco did...?"

"For the Pankhursts, and many others."

A harsh intake of breath. "God, you do not mean—"

"Sit down."

* * *

Groups of Muggles sat chatting and dining happily around a roaring bonfire at low tide, watching the enchanted sun dip below the horizon. Hermione wondered whether any of them could tell that the sky was not real.

She sat across from Malfoy, avoiding his gaze like the plague and trying to squash the guilt churning in her stomach. She had not told him of her suspicions, partly because she was still attempting to convince herself that they were ridiculous. Impossible. And yet, in all its absurdity, her conversation with Chiswick had made more sense than almost anything else that had happened since Hermione had found herself trapped in this endless labyrinth.

_The test subjects must be eliminated,_ Chiswick had repeated with a terrifying zeal. And he had a skylight in his lair through which the movements of the stars could be tracked. He had knocked her out just before she could finish uttering the word _werewolf_.

She watched Malfoy drink coconut milk from a shell, ignoring all attempts by the Muggles to engage him in conversation, and she thought about Chiswick's madness...

"Have some boar, Hermione dear, you look positively starved!" Agatha exclaimed, pressing a leaf covered in roast boar forcefully upon Hermione, whose stomach revolted in protest. She had eaten very little real food for the past two weeks and could not even smell the succulent fumes now without wanting to vomit.

"Oh, er, thank you," she began awkwardly, but Agatha had already moved on to Malfoy. To Hermione's surprise the latter accepted the boar without comment. The moment Agatha's back was turned, however, he vanished the contents of the leaf with a lazy flick of his wand.

"Malfoy!" she squeaked, alarmed. "Can I speak to you for a minute?"

Malfoy hitched an expression of supreme indifference on his face and followed her a little ways off into the forest. Under cover of the palm trees Hermione threw her hands into the air and shook her head.

"What are you doing?" she asked shrilly. "You can't perform magic in front of Muggles!"

Malfoy looked at her as though she had suddenly turned into a Flobberworm.

"Who gives a rat's arse?" he asked incredulously. "I can Obliviate them all later."

"That's really unethical! You can't just muck around in people's heads on a _whim_—"

"Yes I _can_, Granger. Or haven't you been paying attention? I have magic and they _don't._"

"That doesn't mean you get to do whatever you want! You have to be responsible about it!"

Malfoy's eyes narrowed snidely. "Why do I have to be responsible when we're already trapped here on this island? Do they need looking after, or something? Are you saying we're smarter than they are?"

"I—Of course not! Don't twist my words!"

"I don't think I need to. You're doing a good job of it yourself."

"Stop, just stop it! I'm not going to let you use these people. _People_, Malfoy, every bit as much as you and me—"

"Granger," Malfoy interrupted suddenly, "d'you know, your nipples get hard when you're angry?"

Hermione's jaw dropped and she let out a little scream of pure mortification, crossing her arms over her chest. Her undergarments and Hogwarts blouse had grown very worn over the course of their adventures, but her appearance had not really been her top priority of late.

"I—What—I—" she spluttered, and Malfoy quirked an eyebrow in amusement.

"Don't bother looking so outraged," he drawled. "You've got some fight in you. Only makes sense you'd get turned on by a row. Fucking and fighting are more or less the same."

"What kind of... _medieval_ philosophy... I don't even..." Hermione's embarrassment was very close to rendering her mute.

Malfoy shook his head. "I knew Weasley was dim but honestly... If he'd ever done right by you, you'd know what I'm talking about."

Hermione wanted to sink into the ground and strangle him all at once. She wished very much that she could make a scathing retort, but she could not very well declare to Malfoy that Ron was a perfectly good lover. Those words, in that order, would not be able to cross her lips without her cheeks turning beet red. She could already feel them burning.

"Ron's really... We..."

Oh, Lord, how had she allowed herself to get so hopelessly side-tracked? She could not possibly talk to Malfoy about this. She had been with Ron only a handful of times, in truth, and it had been pleasant enough and sweet and a little awkward at first. Exactly what she had expected. Hermione had never really believed in the mythical sort of passion that was espoused in great novels. She had been glad simply to be as close to Ron as possible. Ages ago, when they had spent the majority of their time either worrying about Harry or bickering mercilessly, he had made her blood boil and her breath come shallow and uneven, as it was doing now. But after the war they had settled into a much friendlier dynamic. And that was just as it should be.

It was beyond absurd of Malfoy to try to make her feel that this was inadequate.

"I'll thank you to—to mind your own business!" she said, and stalked off into the woods to find her hut.

Hermione feigned sleep until five minutes after midnight, in the hopes that Malfoy would think she had given up her plan to meet the Muggle man on the beach. She heard him walk up to her door and linger there for several minutes, standing still and apparently listening intently. When she was confident that he had left she crept out of her hut and made her way to the shore on tiptoe, fist clenched around her wand in her pocket just in case.

"I was starting to think you wouldn't show," said a low, pleasant voice, and the man stepped out into the open.

"I was detained." Hermione held out her hand cautiously. "I'm Hermione."

"Terrence White," said the man, shaking her hand in two quick, sure movements. "Were you followed?"

"No but, er, can I ask why you wanted to speak to me alone? Without the man I arrived with?"

"Watched his eyes. He can't be trusted. He's infected."

"Infected? With _what?_"

Terrence White regarded her carefully. "You're not like the others. You know something. Something about why we're here."

"What do you mean?" Hermione asked carefully. "We were all shipwrecked."

"Yeah? Where's the ship, then?"

Hermione's heart began to beat faster. Here, at last, was someone with sharp senses, someone on the alert. This man could be a great help to her.

"Do you know how you got here?" she said, trying to hide her excitement.

He frowned. "I remember a shipwreck, that's the mad part. There are... flashes of a boat washing up on shore... But then when I think really hard about it I can also remember _someone_—someone grabbing me off the street at night, in Islington, and... It was someone with one of those little strips of wood like you had when you first arrived."

"Who was it?"

"I don't know." He looked at her balefully, his eyes hooded in the starlight. "What's happened to me?"

"I don't know," Hermione echoed him. She looked up, lost in contemplation, and Terrence followed her gaze.

"There's no moon," he pointed out. "Have you noticed? There's never a moon. And the sky... it doesn't _look_ like the sky."

At his mention of the moon Hermione's head snapped down.

"What is Malfoy infected with?" she demanded urgently.

Terrence's eyes were haunted as he replied, in a voice barely above a whisper, "We don't talk about it. Agatha's sure it'll only upset everyone to speculate. A creature came here a few weeks ago. It carried away three of us. And I just know, I can _feel_ it... It's going to come back."

* * *

**A/N:** I've been finding out that some person/people have been recommending this story in reviews elsewhere, so thank you SO MUCH for that, I want to hug you! Thank you also to SavvyJackie for your awesome feedback which has led me to tweak my outline a little after rethinking some of the points you made, and to Mariam for listening to me blab about my writer's angst... And as ever huge thanks to everyone else who reviewed! **rachelariel17, JMLMonkey, everlastingtrueromance, Narcissa Black Malfoy, RainThestral93, yourxenium, xFlipJamsx, likelurking, Originals-Klaroline, justy13, Jadepowell, Alexi122, Lupinara, threadfinjack, MattsMarshMello, I, Beserked2, Moriarsh, Guest, HarleenQuinzel7654, Preciousblue, dark-phoenix17, marana1, Tamara, Iseult...** I am legitimately the most wretched awful person for not answering your lovely reviews but I really do appreciate all of them. Just in case anyone is interested, my Dramione writing playlist is up on my 8tracks account (link in my profile, title "pantomime")... Cheers!


	18. The Empty Room

**XVIII – The Empty Room**

_A figure emerging from the shadows, tall and lean and walking with a panther's prowl. A pleasant nod._

"_Mr Malfoy."_

"_You?"_

_Confusion. A litany of silent exchanges between all three parties, culminating in a twisted grimace._

_A drawn wand._

* * *

_A creature..._ Hermione's heart was racing. She felt very close to uncovering something tremendous, something she had been chasing ever since she had first read of Damocles Chiswick's sacking.

"What kind of creature?" she asked Terrence in a hushed voice.

"It's so ridiculous," he replied with a humourless chuckle. "But it was a sort of... Half-man, half-wolf... _thing._"

Something stirred behind the tree line but Hermione was too engrossed to notice.

"A werewolf," she breathed.

"I—I suppose that's how it sounds. It never actually became a wolf but its face sort of turned snout-like and it had these—these massive claws, at least six inches long, and it could run faster than anything I've ever seen but it could talk, too. God, I must be mad."

Hermione frowned, deflating. This did not sound at all consistent with the usual symptoms of a werewolf. Before she could question Terrence further there was a renewed rustling from the trees and Malfoy stepped onto the beach looking thunderous.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" he demanded, walking right past Terrence and facing down Hermione with a glare that put her strangely in mind of Professor McGonagall.

"Having a conversation," she said curtly. "Malfoy, this is Terrence White, and he's just told me—"

"Get out of it, Granger," Malfoy snarled. "You're not really going to trust a word this wanker says?"

"If I could interject—" Terrence began.

"No, you bloody well couldn't," Malfoy snapped.

"It's no business of yours who I talk to, Malfoy!"

"Oh but it is. Haven't you been paying attention? We're _both_ fucking stuck here, and I don't want to have to drag you out of another mess like Chiswick."

"So don't bother! I thought you said I couldn't count on you to—"

"Oh don't be so bloody dramatic—"

"This is really none of my business," Terrence muttered, glancing between the pair of them and beginning to edge away.

"No!" Hermione insisted. "Terrence, wait! Do you know where the creature went?"

"_Oh, Terrence, wait!_" Malfoy mimicked furiously. Hermione ignored him.

"Er, yeah, I followed it for a while," Terrence said tentatively. "I lost its trail but it led me to—Well, but I'm not showing _him,_" he added resolutely, glaring at Malfoy.

"How convenient."

"Enough!" Hermione exclaimed. She flared her nostrils, hating to say it. "Look, Terrence, you can trust Malfoy. I promise I'll keep him in check."

"Like hell you will," Malfoy growled. Green sparks shot from the end of his wand and Hermione shot him a warning look.

"Are you lot with MI6 or something?" Terrence asked, watching Malfoy's wand in fascination.

"Yes," said Hermione before Malfoy could answer. That ought to keep Terrence's suspicions about magic to a minimum.

They were at an impasse. Keeping an eye on Malfoy's wand, Hermione proceeded to follow Terrence into the forest. They walked past the village down an overgrown path, sand seeping into their shoes, for what felt like an eternity. Hermione could not fathom how an entire ocean could be contained within the enchantments of their underground maze, and could only suppose that the extent of the water must be an illusion. The sand and dirt and palm trees, however, felt incontrovertibly real. It was truly magnificent magic.

At last they arrived at a large square bunker covered with moss and vines, its door hanging off its hinges.

"I guess it went in there," said Terrence unnecessarily.

Hermione peered inside and saw an unfurnished room with peeling wallpaper and no windows.

"Is this a joke?" Malfoy spat.

Terrence shook his head. "Go inside, you'll see for yourself. It's my turn to make nightly rounds, Agatha'll be looking for me. Find me later, will you?" he added to Hermione, and Malfoy clenched his fists.

As soon as he was gone Hermione made to enter the room, but Malfoy threw out an arm to stop her.

"You don't know what's in there," he said. "Wouldn't put it past that rat to set us a trap."

"Then you shouldn't go in either," Hermione pointed out.

"Let him do his worst," Malfoy replied in a low, dangerous tone Hermione had never heard before. For the first time she could imagine this voice receiving instructions from Voldemort, casting terrible curses. She shivered, realizing that his arm was still pressed against her, and took a hasty step back. Malfoy took advantage of her distraction to dart into the room. Hermione blinked, and suddenly she could see that he was standing in a wood-paneled room with a handsome marble fireplace. It had a familiar air, though she could not tell exactly what had materialized around him from where she was standing. Did the place work something like the Room of Requirement?

"What is it?" Hermione asked curiously, stepping forward.

"Don't—Don't come in here!" Malfoy called back.

_Get in there,_ Harry prompted her at once, and she entered the room. She recognized it immediately, and froze.

It was the drawing room of Malfoy Manor. It was a perfect replica down to the last detail. The crystal chandelier was the same. The ornate mantelpiece. The intricately designed carpet, where she had thrashed and screamed while Bellatrix Lestrange tortured her.

Malfoy was chalk white. Hermione turned on her heel and left the room, walking all the way back to the village without stopping. He did not follow her.

* * *

"Potter has gotten involved."

An unnatural hush, seeming to quench the heat from the slow-burning hearth.

"Perhaps the First Wand was right..."

"That is neither here nor there. The project has been compromised."

"Then we keep to protocol?"

"No."

A gasp and a great deal of hushed muttering. An angry hiss from the flames.

"We override protocol for the good of the initiative. Secrecy must be protected at all costs."

"I don't believe—"

"_I will not have discord._"

Eyes downcast. Whispered apologies.

"What are we to do?"

"We eliminate all test subjects—"

"Does that mean...?

"Along with all control groups."

"Merlin help us."

"No help is required. There will be no mistakes this time. Will there?"

"No, sir."

"Then see it done."

"Yes, sir." An oath and a condemnation.

* * *

The Muggle village was really rather magnificent. Hermione had to marvel at Agatha's diligence as she observed the daily chores that seemed to advance the perpetual improvement of the camp. Ropes were woven from strips of bark. Tools were constructed from sharp stones and sturdy branches. Rainwater was collected and boiled for safety. In a relatively short time the men and women of this island had established for themselves a much more comfortable living than Hermione and Malfoy had managed in the forest with magic at their disposal.

Nevertheless, having spoken to Terrence, Hermione had begun to sense the aura of unease that hung over the village. Any time she attempted to engage someone in a discussion about what had happened with the creature Terrence had mentioned, Agatha seemed to sidle up out of nowhere with a new and vital task to be accomplished.

"How does she do that?" Hermione asked Terrence, irritated, after Agatha had whisked away another one of her interrogatees. "It's like she's got spy cameras all over camp or something."

"She's just scared. Everyone is."

"I wish I knew how to help. But I can't do anything if no one will even speak to me."

Terrence looked at her pensively. "I had a dream last night. About... well, all this."

"What happened in your dream?" Hermione asked eagerly.

"I was in a forest, and then a... mountain, I think. No, a cave first, then mountains. I was being chased by something. And somebody—a man, he must have been MI6 like you, he had one of those little wooden things you won't tell me about—he said that it was a... necessary sacrifice."

"Who was the man?"

"Pink—No, no, it was Pankhurst. Yeah, his name was Pankhurst—Where are you going?"

Hermione had jumped to her feet, hair flying wildly, flushed with excitement.

"Going to see Malfoy, then?" asked Terrence sulkily.

"I'm sorry, but—Look, I'll explain later."

With an apologetic look over her shoulder Hermione raced off. When she arrived at Malfoy's hut she knocked on the door so forcefully that she nearly broke it down. Without waiting for an answer she swung it open, and found herself face to face with...

"Agatha!" said Hermione, startled. The woman was bloody omnipresent!

"Oh hello, dear! I was just speaking to Draco here about making more permanent arrangements for your stay. These huts are hardly satisfactory. Perhaps we might set up a building crew." Behind her, Malfoy was stone-faced.

"Oh is that right, _Draco?_" Hermione asked pointedly, her annoyance warring with her amusement at his expression. He looked up at her, his jaw set.

"That's right, _Hermione,_" he replied. Her name sounded odd when it crossed his lips: not foreign, as she had expected, but rather as though he might have spoken it a hundred times before. She felt a distantly familiar swooping sensation in her stomach, which she shook off, suppressing a smile.

"Well, Agatha, that's awfully kind of you," she said brightly while Harry and Ron gagged and rolled their eyes in her head. "But I don't know how much longer we'll be staying here, you know."

Agatha's brow furrowed and she looked quite lost. "Oh, my, I'm so very sorry to hear it! I had thought... Well then, I'll just... yes." And she let herself out, still mumbling regrets to thin air.

"Worse than Umbridge," Malfoy grumbled.

Hermione's expression darkened. "No one's worse than that horrible, jumped-up, power-hungry old hag."

Malfoy looked at her in amazement for a moment, then threw his head back and laughed loudly, his shoulders shaking. She did not know whether she had ever seen him genuinely laugh. The change it brought to his demeanor was startling. It suited his face so much better than his usual sneer that she felt she had never really looked at him properly before.

"Never thought I'd hear you badmouth a teacher like that," said Malfoy, still overcome with mirth.

"She wasn't a teacher. She was Fudge's personal puppet. You ought to know, you were in her little favorites' club, weren't you?"

"That was to my advantage. Doesn't mean I didn't hate her as much as you."

"I seriously doubt that." When Malfoy looked as though he would retort Hermione added, "There will be no need to talk."

He chuckled again, and Hermione found she could not stop staring at his grin. She looked away, toying with the hem of her sleeve. When she thought it safe to chance a glance back at him he had sobered up and was looking at her very intently.

"This is very quaint and all, Granger, but would you piss of now?" he drawled. "I'd like to get some peace and quiet before Jones finds another excuse to swoop in here."

"No, no, I need to ask you something. Alan Pankhurst—"

"Not this again! I told you, it's not important."

"But Terrence said something about someone called Pankhurst!"

Malfoy blinked. "What did darling Terrence say?"

"He said—Well I can't be sure I understand it unless you tell me more about Pankhurst."

"You're a shit negotiator."

"Look, I've got one end of the puzzle and you've got the other. Just tell me what you know!"

He sighed, looking very put-upon, and began to twirl his wand between his fingers.

"I suppose," he said quietly, "I could show you." He stared, not at Hermione, but at a spot on the wall just over her shoulder.

"What? How?"

The wand stilled, and Malfoy murmured "_Priori incantatem tempora desabisque._"

Hermione watched, rapt, as a silvery figure in the shape of a gangling man rose from the tip of Malfoy's wand. The man stiffened as wisps of silvery light swirled around him, then a blank look came into his eyes and he dissolved. Malfoy repeated the incantation and a second figure appeared, this one much older. The second man lay on his back and closed his eyes, apparently dead, and a blinding silvery curse hit his chest. His skin appeared severed, and he was bleeding profusely, and Hermione looked away as her stomach turned.

Malfoy waved his wand and the silvery mist dissolved.

"The Dark Lord used to sometimes send me on these... excursions," he said in a perfectly neutral tone. "People he needed killed. So he could... So—Just so he could, ah, mock me after, when I—couldn't. Get it done. Then once he told me I could come back with the target's heart or not at all. It was Alan Pankhurst, he'd defied him somehow. Pankhurst's father begged me to spare him. He was dying himself of a horrible curse and he offered an exchange. So I brought the Dark Lord his heart instead. I don't think it would have worked, he'd have found out somehow, except Bellatrix vouched for me. Of course, then the Dark Lord started sending me on more and more of these little missions, and I had to keep pulling schemes and I knew I was going to die if I kept on but—Well, anyway, Pankhurst considers himself in my debt. My mother's using him to get to me, somehow."

It was not until he had finished speaking that Hermione realized she had been holding her breath. She let it out in a trembling sigh.

"But if Pankhurst is trying to help you," she said, "why does Terrence think he's the one who trapped him here?"

"I'm not playing a fucking guessing game here," said Malfoy with an abrupt return to his abrasive manner. "If you're so cozy with _Terrence_ why don't you ask him?"

"He doesn't know. He's told me everything he remembers."

"I'll bet I could get it out of him," Malfoy replied, drumming his fingers idly against his wand.

"You'll do no such thing!"

He met her gaze at last, and there was a dancing light in them she did not recognize.

"We'll see."

* * *

**A/N:** Happy freedom fries day to any Americans out there! I am eternally grateful to any and all who reviewed: **Preciousblue, yourxenium, Lupinara, SavvyJackie, IDanceToForget, MattsMarshMello, marana1** (Oh god you don't understand how much I love puns! Your review made me giggle!), **JMLMonkey, Jadepowell, Artemisgodess** (That was, like, the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me. I couldn't ask for higher praise than "JKR rexcited." You rock!), **rachelariel17, HarleenQuinzel7654, Ivy Grimm, everlastingtrueromance, Beserked2** (you are quite an excellent sleuth! I don't like Agatha either... Hehehe.), **Moriarsh, Singtoangels1, chellywood, UpYourCupcake, Vicious Dice** (I totally do understand. That's how I feel about almost all the fics I read!), **Guest, vball, Mongolberry...** So this chapter was a bit dialogue heavy but oooooooh my god just wait until you read the next one, it'll be worth it. Cheers!


	19. Rhapsody

**XIX – Rhapsody**

"_You?"_

_A drawn wand. A lithe step forward and a correlating jump back._

"_Me."_

_A swelling silence and a hand abruptly extended to be shaken. Tentative. _

_Everywhere a possible trap. A clasp of hands; an uncertain exchange of trust._

_Then a realization: blood pouring across her front._

"_Draco!"_

* * *

Hermione sat cross-legged on the floor in the middle of the bunker in the woods, which for her had transformed into the sitting room of Grimmauld Place. Everywhere she looked she could see shadows of Harry and Ron, smiling at her. She ought to have been delighted, but at present she was for the most part frustrated. She had laid Chiswick's wand before her on the wooden piano bench and had spent over an hour attempting to learn of Chiswick's activities by using _Priori incantatem_. So far this had yielded very disappointing results. Chiswick appeared to have gone so funny towards the end that he had been casting stunners at rabbits for days on end.

She looked up when she heard a storm begin to build, and saw Malfoy in the doorway, framed by lightning flashes. She wondered what he was doing there, but as he looked around at the room in surprise she guessed that he might simply have wanted a glimpse of home, like her.

"The House of Black?" He frowned. "I used to come here when I was five or six, with—_This _is what the room conjured for you?"

"I lived here for a few months when I was fifteen, and again after I left Hogwarts. It belongs to Harry now."

Malfoy's expression turned suddenly mutinous. "Of course," he said under his breath.

Giving up Chiswick's wand as a bad job, Hermione cast around for a change of subject. She stood and ran her fingers over the keys of the ancient grand piano, playing a little tune her mother had once taught her, and finally asked, "Has Agatha been after you again?"

"Like Bowtruckles on wood lice." Malfoy nodded, then grimaced. "Christ, aren't you supposed to be good at everything? You play like someone swapped your fingers for broken spoons."

"I haven't played in a long time!" said Hermione defensively. "As if you could do any better..."

He glared at her, and she could tell that she had piqued his competitive nature. Malfoy approached the piano and stretched his fingers elegantly over the keys. Then, to Hermione's astonishment, he began to play a flawless rendition of Rhapsody in Blue. The piano was horribly out of key, but under his effortless touch it sounded like the finest of instruments.

"Close your mouth, Granger, you look like fucking Goyle," Malfoy said without stopping, and Hermione realized that her jaw had been hanging open. "It's distracting."

"I—You—That's really good!"

His lip curled in distaste. "Seven years of lessons, six times a week. Boring as hell, but my mother insisted."

"She insisted your learn this in particular?"

"Gershwin was wizard."

"He was a Squib."

"That's debatable."

"Professor Binns said—"

"Oh for fuck's sake." Malfoy stopped playing abruptly, and Hermione regretted the sound at once. "It's just a song, Granger, no need to turn it into a history lesson. Would you shag a lecture if you could manage it?"

"Don't be ridiculous." She banished the imaginary Ron in her head, who for once seemed inclined to agree with Malfoy. It was time to steer the conversation in another direction lest it should drift into dangerous territory. "What does Agatha want?"

"She's addled. Someone's done a number on her memory, I'd guess. Seems to think it'll be catastrophic if we don't all stay here and form one big, happy group." He sneered. "But then, who knows if she wasn't always this way. Muggles aren't the brightest lot—"

"Don't start on that again," Hermione cut him off angrily. "Do you even believe half of the rubbish that comes out of your mouth?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means if you hate Muggles so much why did memories of following Voldemort's orders make you yell and panic so badly when you touched that cursed ceiling? If you really wished the Basilisk would kill me in second year like you told Harry and Ron while they were posing as your cronies, why did you yell at Crabbe when he tried to kill me in Room of Requirement? If you were really on Voldemort's side why didn't you turn Dumbledore's Army in to the Carrows in seventh year when it was obvious they were using the Room to meet?"

She drew a deep breath and realized, with a small shock, that she must have been bursting to say all this to him for some time now. It had come tumbling off her tongue practically without thought. Malfoy looked incensed.

"You panicked when you touched the ceiling, too," he retorted, predictably opting to go on the offensive. "Crying and sniveling all over the place. You were a pathetic mess, Granger. '_Oh, Harry, I'm so sorry. I wouldn't leave you, Harry_.' If you're supposed to be such a brilliant little prodigy, why've you spent seven years tying Potter's shoes for him? Couldn't find a place of your own in the pecking order? Knew deep down that a Mudblood—"

"Say that word again and I'll make you wish the worst I'd done is jinx your tongue off," Hermione warned him, pushing aside the piano bench and stalking up to him with her wand drawn.

"Like you'd have the guts without Potter here to hold your hand—"

She slapped him. The sound echoed through the room like the crack of a whip, answered by a resounding crash of thunder outside. The muscles in his neck tensed and his nostrils flared as he took a step towards her, emanating barely controlled rage. His anger was rather more impressive now than it had been at school, when the worst he might do was throw a petulant tantrum over Quidditch scores. Now that he was taller and more broad-shouldered and more... _everything_, Hermione had to force herself not to back down.

"What've I told you," he said softly, "about fighting?"

Hermione wondered at his meaning, then paled when she realized what he was talking about.

_Just because I let a hallucination of you—_

Oh no, no, she was not going down that avenue of thought again. She waited for Ron and Harry to back her up, but their voices were silent. There was only a curious roaring in her ears as Malfoy watched her with his head cocked slightly to the side, as though he were waiting for something.

"Did you, er, find out anything more about Pankhurst from Terrence?" She blurted the first thing that came to mind in a tone of very forced normalcy.

Malfoy's eyes flashed. "He's fucking useless, that's what I found out."

"You didn't hurt him?" Hermione squeaked. "I told you to leave him alone—"

"I could give a fuck what he does," Malfoy interrupted. "I asked you a question."

"Hmm?" Hermione found she could not quite think straight. He was standing too close to her, and her head was spinning.

"You don't remember?" he insisted, moving one step closer. "And here I thought you were so good at answering questions."

"You—You said—" _No, don't answer!_ her mind screamed at her. It really was a dangerously ingrained habit. There had to be something else to focus on. She realized that Malfoy was standing so close she could smell his skin: he smelled like plain soap and the ocean. She wanted to inhale deeply and commit the smell to memory. But what had changed? What had changed, between now and the moment when he had played a trick on her in the cave to see if an emotional shock would jolt her magic back, to make her suddenly so far from disgusted by his proximity? What was making her knees go wobbly and unsteady?

"Nothing?" Malfoy chuckled. "That's a first. Come on, Hermione, focus."

He had said her name again, but he did not even seem to have noticed. His eyes were fixed on her lips and he looked hungry. Hermione gathered all her remaining composure, determined not to let him reduce her to incoherency.

"You said—" she began more forcefully, but he interrupted her, his face closing in.

Then his lips were on hers and Hermione forgot herself completely. If she had been able to think she might have remembered all the times he had purposely made her life more difficult on this journey by refusing to share important information, or the time she had been brought bound and gagged to his home by Snatchers, or all the times he had done cruel imitations of her eagerness to raise her hand in class. Instead her mind was a delicious blank and all she could think of was the way his lips felt, scorching hot and ice cold all at once, molding perfectly to hers, filling her with a delirious fever.

He prodded her lips apart and swirled his tongue around her mouth, and she reacted instinctively, tangling her tongue with his. She thought she might have let out a shuddering sigh, but she could not be sure, because he had tangled one hand in her hair, drawing her closer, while with the other he cupped the small of her back. His fingers clutched at her violently, sending fire racing over her skin. He was touching her as though he could not stop, rather than as though she was fragile and breakable, like she was used to, and she wanted more.

He began to kiss the line of her jaw, and then the skin of her neck, nipping and biting and then soothing with his tongue. He sucked deliciously at her shoulder and her collarbone, his hands drifting to her waist and running up her sides. She surprised herself by pulling his head back up to kiss him again, because she had to taste him. He groaned low in his throat in response, pulling her closer, tighter.

And then he was kissing her with complete abandon and pulling at her bottom lip with his teeth and she _whimpered_ and felt a coil of unexpected fire in her abdomen, and she was raking her fingers down his back, under his sweater, and she could feel his erection pressing against her stomach and she loved the feel of it and she wanted more, closer, _more_, and he was kissing the skin behind her earlobe and she was bursting into flames...

And there were screams outside. A whole litany of screams, warning and terror and panic. Hermione could hardly hear them at first, because her mind would not seem to work properly, but then someone ran into the room without warning and cleared their throat loudly, and something clicked in Hermione's head. With a tremendous, earth-shattering jolt she and Malfoy pulled apart and saw Terrence standing before them, his eyes fixed on the floor.

"W—What is it?" Hermione asked. Oh, God, her voice was hoarse. The enormity of what she had just done threatened to hit her then, rearing up, unassailable, but there was no time to think about it. The screams were growing louder, and Terrence was clutching a crudely constructed axe.

"It's back," he said. "The creature's back."

* * *

_Hey Big D,_

_Remember me? It's been a long time. I know you must be so thrilled to hear from me. Don't worry, I have no plans to drop in and scare your neighbors. I do have a warning, though._

_Someone's been going around kidnapping Muggles—non-magic people like you—to use in some sort of experiment. People have mostly been taken from London, so I suggest you don't wander around alone, especially at night. I can have security measure placed on your house, just say the word. No one would have to know._

_I could also use a warning if you notice anything suspicious. I'm doing my best to stop these people. They have a friend of mine and we'd all probably be dead nowadays if it wasn't for her, so I'm not going to stop until I get her back. If you hear of any strange disappearances or accidents, I'd appreciate it if you'd let me know._

_Hope that boxing injury's not treating you too badly. Take care, Big D._

_Harry_

* * *

She tried not to trip over her own feet. She tried to concentrate, as though she had not just had the most heated snog of her life with Draco Malfoy, because there were lives at stake. Terrence was holding his makeshift axe high above his head, as if it would do him any good, and so were the other villagers tearing through the woods. A voice was booming through the island, unnaturally loud.

"_Give up the test subjects!_" the voice wheezed. Chiswick's voice, Hermione realized. How had he managed to follow them here without a wand?

Her foot caught on a tree stump and Hermione fell to the ground, bumping her shoulder painfully against a rock. Malfoy yelled her name and turned back but he was tackled by the snarling hurricane that was Chiswick. The latter crashed to the ground and rolled onto his side while Malfoy shook his head, dazed. He had performed a series of gruesome transfigurations upon himself so that his irises burned a fiery red and his teeth had grown into protruding fangs. It was no wonder the Muggles were terrified of him.

"_Draco!_" Hermione struggled to her feet and aimed a stunner at Chiswick. It missed and blasted a crater in the sand instead, and Terrence stared at Hermione's wand with mingled horror and awe. Chiswick rounded on Hermione.

"Run!" she shrieked at Malfoy and Terrence. "_Run_, I'll draw him away!"

Before either of them could protest she was sprinting away, and Chiswick was following behind her, practically breathing down her neck. Hermione aimed several jinxes at him over her shoulder but missed. At last she came to a tree she thought she could climb and waved her wand to dig a series of grooves in its trunk, which she used as footholds to scamper her way to the top. She had put enough distance between herself and Chiswick that by the time he caught up he could not tell where she had gone.

He threw his head up and let out a chilling howl, firing off curses at the sky. Then he moved off to search behind some brambles a little further off.

"Granger?" Malfoy appeared a moment later with Terrence on his heels. "Hermione? _HERMIONE!_"

She was about to jump down from the tree when Chiswick doubled back and faced them with a growl. In her haste to help her foot got caught between two branches and she yelped. Malfoy's eyes darted up to her hiding place and he waved his wand discreetly, hitting her with a powerful silencing charm.

"Where is the test subject?" Chiswick demanded of Malfoy, his voice still magically amplified, drowning out Hermione's attempts to draw attention by beating her fists against the tree.

"She's dead, so you should stop looking for her," Malfoy lied, but Chiswick did not seem to hear him. He dove at Malfoy, who sidestepped him, and hit Terrence instead. While Hermione screamed silently and Malfoy looked on, Chiswick's hands closed around Terrence's throat.

_THIS CAN'T BE HAPPENING!_ Hermione repeated to herself again and again, hacking at the branches trapping her foot with ineffectual slicing charms. Not after what she and Malfoy had just done. He could not betray her like this. His jaw was set and his face was paler than usual, but he was observing Chiswick's attack with a deliberately dispassionate expression.

Finally Hermione managed to reverse Malfoy's _Silencio_ non-verbally, even through her distress. At the same moment the branch finally gave way and she toppled out of the tree, landing painfully on Chiswick.

"_Petrificus horribilis!_" she said, pointing her wand directly at Chiswick's chest, and he howled anew as he was suspended in midair, frozen in an unnatural pose. "Terrence? Terrence, open your eyes!"

But Terrence was unconscious. Dark purple bruises were already blooming across his throat.

"What the fuck?" Malfoy said. "I was trying to figure out what Chiswick was up to!"

Hermione straightened up, trembling with anger.

"How—_dare_—you?" she spat. "He could have been killed!"

"He's just a fucking Muggle—"

Hermione cut him off with a scream of derision. "Get away from me, Malfoy. Get out of here."

He stared at her, fists clenching and unclenching, and did not move.

"Go away," Hermione repeated. "_Now._"

She could still feel him on her lips.

* * *

**A/N:** NOT NOW, TERRENCE! (I can hear you all crying in the distance...) Sorry, not sorry. This is how I have my fun- by torturing you guys. Thanks a million times to everyone for your continuous and insightful reviews! **HarleenQuinzel7654, CharmedBooklett, V.O.L 2, everlastingtrueromance, IDanceToForget, abcd1225, Lupinara, Preciousblue, SavvyJackie** (it's not a quiet talk on the beach, but at least I gave you something! Oh, and I love the moment in fics when they start calling each other by their first names too.), **appleblossum24, yourxenium, Jadepowell, Moriarsh, Narcissa Black Malfoy, MattsMarshMello, kaname's harisen** (I LOVE PUNS! And oh yeah, Draco is totally jealous. I see him as strangely similar to Ron in some ways, which is delightfully ironic.), **heffy, rachelariel17** (Most of my made up spells are just broken latin. "Priori incantatem tempora desabisque" just roughly means priori incantatem to a specific moment in time. I use google translate so it's probably not that accurate :P), **marana1** (the Ministry is SO SHADY! I'm glad someone agrees with me), **TheNewCompanion... **Cheers all! :)


	20. The Tide

**XX – The Tide**

_Blood pouring across her front._

"_Draco!"_

_Vision doubling, trebling, darkening. His face the only thing in focus. Stark determination._

"_Stay awake, Hermione. Fuck!"_

"_We must get her out. The only way is through—"_

_A wall blasted apart by a panoply of magnificent curses. Bright light illuminating stone walls, flooding piles of rubble with colour._

_Arms closing around her waist, lifting her up._

* * *

Malfoy was gone.

Terrence was unconscious and Chiswick still dangling in mid-air. Numbly, Hermione waved her wand, causing both of them to drift ahead of her at shoulder height. She levitated them all the way back to camp and inside her hut before anyone could ask questions, and sealed the door shut behind her with magic. Statute of Secrecy be damned, everyone on the island had already seen far too much. If she got them out the Ministry would surely Obliviate the lot of them anyway.

And she could not have Malfoy coming to bother her at the moment.

She could not understand why he had kissed her. It was difficult to shrug it off as mere boredom: she could not believe he kissed everyone like that, as though every second he did not hold her close he would die a hundred agonizing deaths. He had been behaving oddly towards her ever since they had entered the caves. Perhaps his hallucination had made him perversely curious...

She could not understand why she had returned his kiss. It had been the most sublime feeling of bliss; she had never felt anything like it.

There was a flurry of hammering at her door, and Agatha's muffled voice demanding an explanation.

"Everyone's safe, Agatha!" Hermione called tiredly. "I'm only trying to help!"

How to help? She knelt first next to Terrence to assure herself that he had a steady pulse. Next she cast a counter-jinx on Chiswick so that he was awakened, yet remained immobilized by her tiny window. He bared his teeth and hissed at her, but Hermione was having none of it.

"Enough is enough, Mr Chiswick!" she said sternly. "Why have you attacked these people? They're Muggles, they can't possibly be a threat to you."

"Looking for the test subjects!" Chiswick exploded.

She had heard this song many times before. "What test? You had better start talking, Mr Chiswick, or so help me I'm going to leave you petrified indefinitely."

"The experiment. To be prepared, should the Dark Lord rise again."

"Voldemort's dead for good. He's not going to rise again."

"The dark arts always return." Chiswick's eyes rolled back into his head and he began to growl. "The experiment is proof!"

They were getting nowhere. She needed Malfoy for this: he was doubtless a much better Legilimens than she was. She would never get anything out of Chiswick herself. But Hermione was not about to go crawling to Malfoy for help.

Not a chance.

Terrence stirred, startling Hermione rather badly. She slashed her wand through the air, stupefying Chiswick once more, and watched Terrence anxiously. When he opened his eyes she rushed forward to be certain that he was not running a fever.

He recoiled and yelled, "Get away from me!"

"I'm not going to hurt you," said Hermione, her heart sinking. "I just—"

"Who are you really?" he demanded, massaging his throat and staring at Chiswick's frozen form in horror. "You and _Malfoy._ You're just as bad as that—that _thing_ that attacked us. What the hell did you shoot out of that wooden stick of yours? _What?_"

"Terrence, please. It's very hard to explain. I'm... I'm a witch. It was magic, what I did. I know it sounds mad but—Considering everything you've seen..."

She fully expected him to accuse her of being off her rocker. Instead he closed his eyes.

"Magic. _Magic._ Bloody figures."

"Terrence—"

"I can't get involved with this, Hermione. Your bloody boyfriend left me to die, and if that's what your magic's worth—"

"He's not my _boyfriend!_"

Terrence gave her a weary look. "You're sure about that, are you?" He stood and made to leave the hut. Hermione waved her wand discreetly to allow him to open the door, feeling dejected. But before Terrence could storm out Agatha had burst through the door, flushed and furious.

"Hermione, _dear_, I think we here are owed an explanation as to what _exactly_—"

"Agatha."

"Not now, Terrence dear, this is between Hermione and Draco and I, and—"

"Agatha!"

"... have done our best to be gracious hosts and—"

"Agatha!"

At last Agatha turned around, just in time to hear a ferocious roaring and see half a dozen islanders come sprinting back into the village from the beach. Hermione saw movement in Malfoy's hut from the corner of her eye but she was already running off with Terrence and Agatha to investigate the disturbance. When she arrived on the beach her heart leapt into her throat. She felt rather the same as she had done during the battle at Hogwarts, when she had seen a tribe of Acromantula crawling across the grounds.

A colossal tidal wave had risen across the horizon and was tearing in their direction, ridged with angry white foam and rumbling like thunder. It had to be at least fifty feet high.

"We must find high ground!" Agatha shrieked, flapping her hands at Terrence to urge him away, but the latter was staring at Hermione.

"_Do something!_" he urged her. But what could she possibly do?

_Are you a witch or what?_ she asked herself frantically. Withdrawing her wand, Hermione stepped out to the edge of the waves and concentrated as hard as she had ever done. Harry had been able, in third year, to conjure a Patronus powerful enough to chase off a horde of hundreds of Dementors. Surely if the circumstances were serious enough she could manage a similar feat.

Bizarrely, a moment before she cast her spell, Hermione's thoughts flickered to Malfoy, and she wondered whether he was safe.

"PROTEGO TOTALUM!" Hermione bellowed, pointing her wand at the sky just as the wave came crashing against the shore.

The impact shook her from head to toe. Her shield charm trembled as the waves battered it, but with a tremendous effort she managed to keep it firmly in place. The invisible barrier stretched from the sands up above the treetops, so that a small amount of water rushed over top while the rest receded in a frothy turmoil. The downpour lasted several minutes, during which Hermione's arms shook and she began to feel sweat pour down her brow. At last the wave subsided and she dropped her arm, exhausted.

Terrence and Agatha had retreated behind the tree line. As Hermione turned to look for them she realized that the riptide was coming for her. She had just enough time to stow her wand in her pocket before her feet gave way beneath her.

Coughing out salt water and flailing her arms madly, Hermione was carried away from the shore at a dizzying speed. She heard voices calling her name, but she could not tell which way was up, and her lungs were on fire, and her head was sinking beneath the surface. She glimpsed an enormous, dark shape deep beneath the turquoise waters in the distance before she began to panic in earnest.

She made one last, desperate attempt to break from the waves, and then the world went dark.

* * *

"She hasn't answered on the coin in _ages._"

"Maybe she lost it..."

"Hermione never misplaced anything in her life!"

"Panicking isn't going to help, Ron."

A fist punching out at a wall. A grunt of pain.

A low mutter. "Told you..."

"Ron might be right, Ginny. It doesn't make sense that she'd just stop communicating with us."

"Malfoy did something to her, I'll bet!"

"It's only Malfoy, I'm sure Hermione can handle—"

A snort. "That little fucker? He's sneaky. I swear, if he did anything..."

Knocking. A door opened to reveal a man in uniform clutching a satchel.

Hurried conversation. An uneasy chuckle.

"What the bloody hell was that?"

"Muggle postman. It's Dudley's answer to my letter."

Eyes scanning paper. Growing wider.

"God, he knows something! We... We have to go to Privet Drive."

* * *

Hermione came back to consciousness by degrees, her awareness washing over her piece by piece, so that she knew first and foremost that her throat was extremely dry and that she was desperate for something to drink.

She coughed, and Terrence leaned over her with a coconut shell full of water.

"Don't move," he advised her. "You've had a real shock. You nearly drowned."

"Oh, Terrence!" she croaked, making a feeble attempt to reach for his hand. "You saved me?"

"No. It was your—It was Malfoy. He showed up at the last second. Pulled you out of the water."

Hermione's stomach twisted oddly. "Malfoy. Where is he now?"

"No idea. He seemed... preoccupied."

Hermione gasped suddenly and looked into the corner. Terrence had brought her back into her hut, but Chiswick was missing.

"That sneaking little... Merlin's pants!" Hermione shrieked, though her throat ached in protest. She jumped to her feet, head spinning, and made for the door.

"Hermione!"

"Oh, I should have known," she muttered to herself.

"Hermione, if you go out there you have to be careful!" Terrence insisted. "Agatha... After what she saw you do on the beach she's decided that you're not—not safe. The rest of them want you and Malfoy gone."

She ought to have expected this. Hermione sighed wearily.

"How long do we have?"

"Until tonight."

She nodded and slipped outside, darting into Malfoy's hut. She had hoped to find him absent, but he was sitting on his bamboo mattress, twirling his wand between his fingers. Chiswick was slumped face down in a corner.

"What did you do?"

He sneered, but the humour did not reach his eyes. "What you couldn't."

"You didn't torture him?" Hermione asked squeakily.

"Go to hell, Granger," he said very quietly.

She considered him. Perhaps that had been uncalled for. He must have simply used Legilimency. Hermione took a deep breath. It was very difficult to keep hysteria from rising to the surface when she could still feel his hands digging into her skin and his tongue running over her neck. When she could still see him watching Terrence's attack dispassionately.

"Thank you for pulling me out of the water," she murmured.

Malfoy only scowled.

"What did you get out of him?" Hermione tried, nodding at Chiswick.

"He's the one who broke into my family's vault at Gringott's," he replied tonelessly.

"And what did he take?"

"An old heirloom." For some reason he swallowed and looked away from Hermione before continuing. "A lantern that emits a kind of... scent that disables your magic for a while. They used to use them on Mudbloods in the seventeenth century. Chiswick claims he used it all up."

Hermione's insides curled in disgust at the idea of such an artifact, but her mind presented her with a more pressing question.

"Why are you answering all my questions?" she asked, unable to contain her curiosity. "You're not even making it difficult at all."

He let his eyes drift up and down her body, just once. "Anything to get out of here. If it means we have to work together, _fine._ This place is driving me out of my fucking mind."

Something in his tone left her in no doubt that he was talking about their kiss. Making some sort of attempt to blame it on cabin fever. Hermione was not so very sure she disagreed.

She wondered whether she could bring herself to tell him of her suspicions about Chiswick. About _him._

"Agatha wants us off the island," she settled on. "By tonight."

"Fantastic."

"Well, it might all work out. I think I know where the next doorway is, you see. I saw a sort of wreckage underwater before you pulled me out. I think there's a sunken ship down there."

Malfoy stood up at once, as sullen as ever. "Let's go."

* * *

An open door. A stunned greeting.

"H—Hello?"

"Hi, Big D. Sorry to pop by unannounced, but it's a bit urgent. You remember Ron? He jumped through your parents' fireplace five years ago... And this is Ginny."

"Er, I—This isn't... Come in."

"We'd love to, but actually you're going to have to come with us. It's a bit dangerous in these parts for now. Someone's snatching Muggles to use as human bait in a sick sort of underground experiment. We're here to get you to a safe house."

Mouthing silently. A pained attempt to follow the conversation. A tentative step forward.

"Got to... warn mum and dad, then."

A shrug and a smirk. "Well, if you must."

A whisper. "Sure you don't want to let them wander about a bit? Try their luck?"

"_Ron._"

* * *

**A/N:** Sorry, I know I usually post in the mornings. Acquiring Netflix was a huge mistake. Moving on. This chapter was sort of light on the Dramione action, but I felt I gave you enough to tide you over last time. I prostrate myself with thanks before all you amazing reviewers who make this such a great experience: **MattsMarshMello, marana1, JMLMonkey, Preciousblue, IDanceToForget** (Ooooh my God I hate having typos in my stories thank you SO MUCH for warning me!), **SavvyJackie, Athena92, Twilighternproud, justy13, TheNewCompanion, Guest, HarleenQuinzel7654, CharmedBooklett, yourxenium, roseberrygirl, Lupinara** (Okay. Best expletive ever. EVER.), **Artemisgodess** (Whoa, yeah, I used to love True Blood so much. Eric is still my favorite), **Jadepowell, everlastingtrueromance, Monkeyluv4646, Ari, Moriarsh, Beserked2, anononymas, Alexi122, fallenhero57, Morena25, dmforever** (Thanks for checking on me you are too kind!), **buttercup, love-warmth-life...** Group hug, guys. Cheers :)


	21. The Ghost Ship

**XXI – The Ghost Ship**

_A wall blasted apart. Arms closing around her waist._

_A bellowed curse. A jet of green light streaking just above her head. Panic, chaos, everywhere._

_A familiar cry._

"_Eliminate the test subjects!"_

* * *

Leaving Chiswick tethered inside the hut, Hermione and Draco made their way down to the beach and cast identical Bubblehead charms upon themselves without consultation. They waded into the water fully dressed, uncomfortable in their waterlogged clothes, but soon Hermione had cause to rejoice, because not five minutes into their journey she spotted the shape of an overturned ship looming eerily up ahead.

When they approached the sunken ship Hermione's awe grew tenfold. Its hull formed an apparently airtight dome over the ocean floor. After a moment's contemplation Hermione cast a shield charm at a patch of wood on its side, then used a slicing charm to cut a painstaking opening through the hull. Her shield charm kept the water from rushing through, and she was able to see that the inside was, indeed filled with air. She gestured to Malfoy, who swam up to the opening then fell inside. After following suit she closed up the side of the hull and removed the Bubblehead charm from herself.

"This has got to mean something," she said, lighting her wand to look around at the vast wooden dome.

"No shit," Malfoy snapped.

The space was dank and more than a little depressing. It smelled faintly of mold and salt, and the wood of the hull had been tarred so that it looked blackened and rotten. The only sign of human activity were the remains of a campfire at the center of the makeshift room, which Hermione thought was a terrible idea considering the flammability of the walls. And yet...

"There," Malfoy pointed out the same instant Hermione spotted it. There was the outline of a set of wooden panels in the sand. She swept at it with her hand and revealed a trap door.

Simultaneously Hermione and Malfoy jumped back from the door, retreating as far from it as they could. Hermione did not want to risk setting off a headache that would force them through right away.

"Right," she said briskly. "That's got to be the way through. So we can hide out here for now. I've told Terrence to keep Chiswick hidden in your hut. Tomorrow we'll go back and retrieve Chiswick to keep as... as a hostage, I suppose. And we can come back through."

"Fine." Malfoy nodded and busied himself conjuring pillows and blankets on the opposite side of the space from Hermione. When he had finished he produced bluebell flames which he levitated a few inches above the sand to offer some illumination. Hermione watched the flames dance fondly: they reminded her of winters at Hogwarts.

When she had set up a comfortable camp for herself Hermione made a valiant attempt at reciting Bridget Wenlock's principles of Numerology in her head. But her eyes kept drifting over to Malfoy, and it soon became clear that her concentration had failed her utterly.

"Why do you think Chiswick needed that lantern from your Gringott's vault?" she asked as the muted rush of the waves whispered overhead.

Malfoy was lying across his blankets, twirling his wand between his fingers. He did not look over as he answered.

"I'd say to take down his enemies, but he didn't use it on us when he caught us in that fucking fog."

"To use it on... himself, then?"

Malfoy shrugged. "He's a nutter."

"But he was Senior Undersecretary to the Head of Magical Law Enforcement a month ago. How could he have lost his mind so quickly?"

He did not answer. Hermione lay back against her pillows, frowning at the ceiling.

"I suppose anything could have happened to him in this place," she went on, unwilling to abandon her inquiries. "He could even have gone through stages we didn't. We haven't really been here long enough to understand the scope between each doorway."

Malfoy chuckled darkly. "Oh, I wouldn't say that."

"What do you mean?"

"I think we've been here _much_ too long."

"Why?"

"Because," he said, turning at last to look directly into her eyes. "Right now I want to fuck you more badly than I want to keep breathing."

Hermione stared at him for what felt like ages, forgetting to breathe. Then she turned around slowly to face the hull and drew a blanket around herself, shivering.

* * *

An office seldom frequented. A man sitting calmly with his back to the fireplace.

A door broken down with a mighty crash.

"Ah, you have tracked me down at last, then. Quite timely, Potter. I congratulate you."

"You're the First Wand?"

"One of many. You have met my predecessor, I believe. Most unwise of him to go blabbing. I will have to arrange to have him put in his place."

"Then I'll have to arrange to put him in a safe house."

"You can certainly try."

Three wands raised threateningly. A chuckle.

"You might as well get along with your interrogation, then."

"_Where's Hermione?_"

"The girl is dead."

"Y—You're lying! I'll fucking kill you—"

"Ron, stop, you can't curse him yet. Wait until we're done interrogating him."

A brief scuffle. A reluctant nod.

"You're going to tell us what you know, or I'm not going to stop Ron from cursing you. Trust me, the Auror Office has been teaching us some pretty creative spells."

"You are too late, Potter. This information will never see the light of day, and nor will your Miss Granger. If it gives you peace of mind, however, allow me to make it clear for you: our organization is one that has operated in the margins of wizarding society for hundreds of years. Our newest venture has been undertaken in conjunction with the Department of Mysteries so as to grant us access to the forgotten catacombs of the Minsitry. These we have used as a training ground of sorts."

"A training ground for _what?_"

"Our greatest weapon. A weapon devised to defend the wizarding world from darkness. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named may have fallen, but evil shall always return. And we shall be ready for it."

A dumbfounded silence.

"... You're making weapons out of _people?_"

"Not anymore. The venture has been deemed too much of a liability. The training grounds are being purged. None will survive."

"This is mad. You're going to Azkaban. Get up."

"Oh, I think not."

A sudden snapping of fingers, followed by a burst of light and a loud _bang_.

"Where did he go?"

* * *

Hermione stirred awake to the sound of relentless crashing overhead. The flames had gone out and she stumbled a little as she stood to look around in alarm.

"Lumos," she said in a voice still rusty with sleep.

Malfoy was gone. She blinked, then noticed an opening in the hall like the one she had carved to come through. He must have cast a shield charm, because the water was not pouring in.

Immediately curious, Hermione performed a quick Bubblehead charm on herself and lifted herself out into the water. Her wandlight cast an eerie glow through the water, and by pointing it upward she could glimpse that the waves above her were churning violently. It was with relief that she ascertained, at least, that another tidal wave was not rolling in. The ocean was merely in the grips of a storm.

A shape stirred a few yards to her right, but Hermione did not have time to examine it. She was seized from behind and dragged back against the ship with a body pressing into her from behind and a hand clamped over her mouth through the bubble of air she had conjured.

"_Don't—move,_" Malfoy whispered in her ear, his words garbled and barely intelligible through the water.

She could not have moved even if she wanted to, because with his arms tightening around her she suddenly felt limp and disoriented. As her eyes adjusted further to the underwater light she saw what had caught her eye: a full-grown Hammerhead shark was darting in their direction.

_The efficacy of defensive spells is lessened twofold when performed underwater due both to increased molecular density and lack of conductivity..._ Hermione's mind went into overdrive, drawing up every textbook she had read that discussed the use of magic under water. With the shark's speed, she did not like to test her luck.

It darted in the opposite direction for a moment, distracted, and Malfoy pulled both of them back into the ship in one swift move. The moment they had righted themselves, however, the shark darted closer, and Malfoy kept his arm around her waist and his hand pressed over her mouth. It was clear that he thought sealing the opening back up would only attract the shark's attention.

Hermione counted to thirty in her head, all the while acutely conscious of the lean lines of Malfoy's body pressing against hers. When at last the shark had departed she waited for him to release her, but seconds passed and still he did not move. She could feel his chest moving in time with his breath, quick and shallow. They were both sopping wet from the ocean water, but Hermione's brain had jammed and would not respond to her command to raise her arm to cast a drying charm.

With some effort she managed to give a small push against Malfoy, and he removed his hand from her mouth, keeping his arm around her waist.

"_Reparo,_" he said, and the hull sealed itself.

She wondered if he was going to let her go. She wondered if she wanted him to.

"Thanks," she muttered, turning to face him and casting about for something appropriate to say. "Why did you go outside?"

"Storm," he replied succinctly. His eyes had gone hooded with what she had come to recognize as desire. The sight made her heartbeat skyrocket.

"That was dangerous."

He did not answer. There was a smudge of sand on her shoulder. With slow, deliberate movements he reached up to brush it away, and she shuddered. Something was happening that she did not quite understand. Much as she liked to think of herself as serious and dedicated and all sorts of similar qualities, Hermione was not immune to simple charm. She never had been, from Gilderoy Lockart to Victor Krum. There was something in it too evocative of the storybooks she had loved as a child. And she had never seen anything so unexpectedly entrancing as Draco Malfoy looking at her like he wanted to devour her. It was the last expression she had ever expected to see on his face.

"Hammerhead sharks can swim as fast as twenty-five miles per hour," she babbled, her brain going on auto-pilot as Malfoy let his fingers linger on her shoulder where he had brushed away the sand.

"Hermione," he drawled quietly. "Stop talking."

She raised her arms to gesticulate angrily, so as to reprove him for his rude interjection, but he caught her wrists and pulled her forward. It was intoxicating. He was intoxicating. Every move he made was measured yet effortless. It left her in the unfamiliar position of relinquishing a little control, but she was so tired of looking over her shoulder, of always jumping at shadows, that this felt like a weight lifted from her shoulders.

Without warning he kissed her, and all the feverish intensity of their last kiss flooded back at once, leaving Hermione lightheaded. She never wanted it to stop.

_This has got to end!_ a distant part of her mind screamed at her. He would have left Terrence for dead. This was madness.

Yes, he would have left Terrence for dead. He had also spared that Pankhurst character during the war, at the risk of angering Voldemort. And he had let Chiswick drag her away in the mountains without resistance. But he had saved her from drowning in the tidal wave. He was a study in contradictions.

He flipped them around so that she was pressed between him and the side of the hull. Still holding her wrists, he brought them up and pinned them above her head with one hand, gripping her leg and hitching it around his waist with the other. Hermione moaned a little at the pressure this created and pushed her hips towards his. He cupped the back of her neck and said her name reverently several times, like a charm, running his tongue across her top lip. Kissing behind her ear. Kissing the hollow of her throat.

He was hard and he was pressing against her thigh by now, and the thought that she was the cause of it made a flash of heat spread from her chest all the way out to her fingers and toes. Oddly enough, it seemed this sweet madness was something she had not known about herself. It felt marvellous, and she wanted more. She was abandoning all sense of logic and propriety, too lost in the sensations he was evoking with his lips and his tongue, but it was not enough. Without pausing to think, she dropped to her knees and fumbled with his belt.

"Granger, what—what are you—" He was looking at her with careful disbelief, and Hermione took advantage of his distraction to undo his flies and brush her fingers along the trail of hair that led down to the waistband of his pants.

"_Fuck,_" he hissed, and she found that she was grinning.

She had only done this once before, but Hermione Granger had a steep learning curve.

The first time she ran her hand up and down his cock, through his pants, the sound he made was more feral than human. When she drew him out and took him into her mouth, swirling her tongue around, he tightened his hands painfully in her hair and began to twitch his hips with pained restraint. She darted a glance up at him and saw that he was watching her, apparently transfixed. Soon he was shuddering, and his eyes closed as he tilted his head back, and she redoubled her attentions.

When he was finished she rocked back on her heels, somewhat amazed by what she had just done. She had no idea what had possessed her. She wanted to do it _again._

"Granger."

She met his eyes, which were glazed, and felt a strange urge to run her hands through his hair until it was in complete disarray. As he tucked himself back into his pants he looked at her as though he had never seen her before. As though he had never even imagined a glimpse of her and now she was all he could see.

"I—Granger—_Christ,_ I don't even..."

He pulled her to her feet with a predatory growl and tore off all the buttons on her blouse in one clean sweep. His breath was scorching hot against her skin as he began to kiss a line up her stomach, over her ribs, between her breasts. When his mouth closed around her nipple she whimpered, and she felt his lips curl into a smirk. And for the first time she felt she rather like the way that smirk shaped his face.

The sun was coming up, Hermione realized dimly. Wan beams of light were filtering through the wooden panels of the hull, signaling the approach of morning.

"Draco!" she said hoarsely, suddenly jolted back to reality by the sting of bright light peaking into the ship. Too bright. "It's morning. We have to get Chiswick and go."

He pulled away and looked at her with his head tilted to the side, and she did not think he had heard a word she said. But all at once Hermione felt preoccupied. Something was wrong.

Following an inexplicable hunch she pointed her wand at the hull and muttered "_Diffindo._"

Several planks of wood fell away, but no water came rushing in. She could see clear blue skies through the hole in the hull. The ocean was gone.

* * *

A/N: I'm not really in the habit of defending my writing. I prefer to let it speak for itself. But I just want to mention lest anyone think I'm just throwing in lemony scenes at random... I put a fair bit of thought into characterization in this chapter. For realz (cause, like, I can't emphasize enough how much I hate writing lemony scenes). Haha many thanks to all who reviewed: **Preciousblue, Jadepowell, Morena25, TheNewCompanion, SavvyJackie, IDanceToForget, everlastingtrueromance, anthraquinblue, marana1, yourxenium, dmforever, Moriarsh, AW Science Geek, Lupinara, justy13, Artemisgodess, anononymas, lauran enquist, twoTongues, ICorona23, garryxmrchairfan, Speechwriter...** I'm posting this in the middle of my Shakespearean lit class for you guys :P Cheers!


	22. Steel and Ice

**XXII – Steel And Ice**

"_Eliminate the test subjects!"_

_Chaos without bounds. Spells grazing spells grazing rubble, and screams. Her name. Then a surprise._

"_Here they are! I've found them, here!"_

_Disbelief and understanding. The need to run. Heady from blood loss and searching for a familiar face._

_A body crashing into hers, solid and warm. _

_Yes._

* * *

The world was breaking apart around them. For a moment Hermione hoped desperately that she might be dreaming. That everything she had been through in the course of this thrilling, utterly destabilizing night had been a product of her starved and addled imagination. But then she was nearly hit by an enormous chunk of earth falling from the sky before Draco pulled her back, and she realized what was happening.

This place, whatever it was—secret Ministry compound or hallucination or the seventh circle of hell—had begun to cave in.

"Chiswick!" she exclaimed, suddenly coming to her senses.

Draco was already running in the direction of the island, his feet squelching in the waterlogged sand that had a moment ago been an ocean floor. Hermione followed close behind him. Her movements felt sluggish. It was almost a full minute before she remembered to flick her wand and repair her blouse, which had lost all its buttons.

She ducked as another piece of the enchanted ceiling came crashing down much too close, and at last she and Draco reached the trees outside the village. The Muggles were in chaos. Agatha was standing a few yards away trying to bark directives, but her compatriots were in a blind panic. Hermione could only imagine what it must be like to find the sky _actually falling_ without explanation.

She had no time to dwell on it, however, as she knew the moment she sprinted up to Draco's hut that something was wrong. The bamboo door was hanging off its hinges and Terrence was nowhere to be found. One look at Draco and they had both sprinted off instead in the direction of the bunker in the woods. As she ran Hermione began to notice that the trees were... _wilting_. There could be no other word for it. Proud and sturdy palm trees that had stood twenty feet high were drooping dispiritedly, their leaves falling like rose petals and drifting into the sand. Something was very, very wrong.

Hermione raised her wand when she arrived in front of the bunker, but it was empty. Nevertheless, she knew that Chiswick must have come here. Something had been left by the door: an old-fashioned lantern. Draco snatched it up and stared at it wonderingly.

"From your family's Gringott's vault?"

He nodded, turning the lantern this way and that. All the oil had gone out of it, and it had been severely banged up in what Hermione could only assume was the course of Chiswick's insane wanderings. Draco's nostrils flared.

"Worthless," he said, throwing the lantern violently against a wall of the bunker.

"Why did you want it back anyway?"

"Family heirloom. It was my grandfather's."

Hermione frowned. "But surely that's not worth—"

"Family fucking _means_ something to me, Hermione. If people think they can steal from a Malfoy—"

His diatribe was interrupted when a colossal chunk of ceiling came crashing down only a foot from where he stood. Hermione grabbed his arm and pulled him into the bunker for cover. And there, in the middle of the floor, to her amazement, was her gold DA coin.

Hermione picked it up and stared at it. For a moment the destruction outside was lost on her, and she was filled with the most profound sense of relief. She could speak to Harry and Ron, and reassure them that she was not dead. She could make Draco question his mother about Pankhurst.

"That's not...?" Draco looked at the coin suspiciously.

"The room must have traded it for your lantern, somehow!" said Hermione. The last message was still etched in the side of the coin.

_HERMIONE FOR GOD'S SAKE! –RW_

She tapped out a quick response assuring Ron of her safety, expecting to have to wait perhaps a few hours for acknowledgment. But less than thirty seconds later the letters twisted anew.

_WHAT DID MALFOY DO? WHY HAVE YOU BEEN OUT OF TOUCH SO LONG? _

Hermione sighed.

_He threw my coin away. I got it back. Nothing to worry about._

_I'LL KICK HIS ARSE!_

Hermione was about to tell Ron to calm down, that Malfoy was being perfectly helpful, when the latter twitched his wand and forestalled her. To Hermione's horror, Draco's own words appeared along the edge of the coin.

_Love to see you try, Weasel King._

"What—are—you—_doing?_" Hermione screeched, punctuating each word with a jab to his shoulder.

He smirked. Ron's response was apoplectic with dismay.

_What. The. Fuck. Is. Going. On._

"Hermione?" said a voice from the doorway, and Terrence appeared, out of breath and white with fear.

_Ron, I don't have time right now! I'll explain later!_

Hermione stuffed the coin in her pocket and yelled, "What's going on out there?"

"You tell me!" Terrence replied.

Draco opened his mouth to snap at Terrence but was interrupted when a trio of palm trees collapsed, knocking Terrence down in the process.

"No!" Hermione screamed, and flicked her wand to send the trees flying off him. To her relief he did not appear to have been knocked unconscious, but was stirring feebly on the ground. His leg was very obviously broken.

"Get away from me," Terrence said when Hermione made to kneel at his side and attempt a healing spell. She pulled back, hurt.

"You heard him," drawled Draco. "Leave it, he doesn't want your help."

But Hermione bit her lip, torn.

"Don't you dare," Terrence insisted, sounding more pained and bewildered than angry. "I can't have anything to do with you, all right? This magic business is a death trap. It's what got me here in the first place. I—I forbid you to touch me. Just go away!"

Hermione's muscles tensed; her mind worked furiously. She made a decision.

"_Fractura convertere,_" she said quietly, and Terrence's leg mended itself with a _pop_. His eyes held nothing but betrayal and fear. Hermione's insides felt like ice.

Without another word Terrence scrambled to his feet and raced away towards the village, and Hermione cursed herself for not having been able to find some way to prevent all this from happening. Of saving him the grief.

"Forget it," Draco snapped. The look on his face told her that he knew exactly what she was thinking. "What're we supposed to do about Chiswick?"

Before Hermione could answer there was a deafening, earth-shattering crash. The ground shook, and the bunker trembled around them. When she looked outside Hermione saw dirt flying in every direction and trees being flattened. A slab of ceiling roughly the size of the Great Hall had collapsed and flattened half a square mile of forest a few hundred yards away.

The village was there no more. Hermione stopped breathing and waited for some indication that the villagers had made it. Surely Agatha would come bustling up any minute, demanding that they organize a cleanup crew. Seconds passed. Draco was tugging on her sleeve, yelling that they had to go.

Much as she hated the idea, Hermione was accustomed to death. She had seen enough of it firsthand to last her a hundred years. She had experienced losses that had shaken her to the core. With a tremendous effort she shook herself and followed Draco out of the bunker, imitating him in casting a shield charm above her head to avoid any more falling rubble.

"... to forget about Chiswick," Draco was saying. Hermione did her utmost to latch onto the sound of his voice, to focus. She had mastered the art of staying cool in a crisis. But she had just seen over a _dozen_ people killed. Innocent people, unsuspecting. Terrence, Agatha, the girl who always carried pails of water, and who could not be more than sixteen...

Colin Creevey's face swam unbidden through her mind. She took hold of herself and concentrated on the situation at hand.

"_Diffindo!_" she cried, still running full tilt towards the now dry hull of the ship. A six inch lock of her hair was severed, and she affixed it to the ground with another spell.

"What are you doing?" asked Draco breathlessly.

"Leaving a marker for a locator charm. So I can—" she caught her breath, panting. "So I can come back for them when we get out."

She thought she saw him roll his eyes, but she could reprove him for it later. They had arrived at the ship. While Hermione clutched at a stitch in her side Malfoy blasted the entire side of the hull apart with a bombardment spell. They dove for the trap door just in time to avoid yet another falling piece of the ceiling. Their dual spells blasted the door open with a mighty bang, and Hermione was already jumping into the void as the familiar splitting headache hit her.

_Bothersome, isn't it?_ said Harry conversationally while she fell interminably with a hand clapped against her forehead as if to keep the pain at bay. Oh, she had gotten much too complacent about danger. That could not be a normal reaction to what she was experiencing.

Hermione landed on a soft mound of something crisp and white which her mind at first refused to identify. She heard Draco land next to her with a predictable series of swear words, and was at least relieved that they had both made it through safely.

She shivered. Cold was seeping through her robes and clinging to her skin. At last Hermione stirred and looked around her. And for a full minute she was utterly convinced that she had gone mad.

They had landed in what appeared very much to be a field of ice. They might as well have been at the North Pole. An icy wind blew through the air, sweeping across snowy plains and deep blue crevices. The ceiling was intact and a perfect, opalescent white.

The only thing to indicate human presence was a row of heavy steel swords lain across the snow at their feet.

* * *

"I can't apologize for going behind your back, Kingsley. Hermione's been missing for _weeks_..."

"No, no, that isn't why I've called you."

A calculating glance. Understanding filtering through.

"What do you need?"

"This man styling himself the First Wand... He has Clara, my niece. He has been keeping her prisoner. I have been unable to act, for fear of what might be done to her."

"And now?"

"I have been sent memories of hers. I've viewed them in a Pensive. She..."

A hiss of breath. Fists clenched.

"She's not _dead?_"

"No. But she has been mistreated. Unforgiveable curses. I believe... there is nothing to lose. The moment has come to act."

"None of this can go through the official channels, I'm assuming? That's why you've come to us?"

"Exactly the case. Can I count on you and Ron? I should not ask—"

"We're in."

* * *

Hermione rolled her eyes and tapped the DA coin with her wand, her fingers numb from the cold.

_I told you, Malfoy's fine. He's been helpful. Don't worry about it._

_What's he done to you? Are you confunded? The Imperius curse?_

There was nothing to be done. Ron was determined to be in a foul mood. A small but insistent part of Hermione was rather irritated that, while she was the one in mortal danger, he was the one in need of reassurance. Pettily, when the words contorted again she almost refused to read them. But Hermione's need for contact with the outside world got the best of her. And the next message, as it turned out, was not from Ron.

_Ron's... sort of indisposed right now. Don't worry about it. We're still working to get you out. –HP_

Hermione frowned.

_Indisposed?_

_Firewhiskey. –GW_

A few moments, and another message came.

_Something big is going down tomorrow. Will tell you all about it soon. Don't share any information with Malfoy. –HP_

Hermione looked up to where Draco was sitting in the snow and her insides squirmed. They had been here several hours and he had not acknowledged in any way what had happened between them in the shipwreck. Hermione had hardly expected him to be the type to discuss these things openly. Yet she felt a nameless unease: he was by turns skittish and oddly intense around her. He remained quite as rude as ever, but he held her gaze a moment too long each time they spoke. She did not know what to make of it.

Luckily—if she could allow herself to look at it that way—there was little time to dwell on Malfoy's attitude, due to the rather more pressing matter of the searing cold that enveloped her relentlessly. Hermione had realized within minutes of her arrival that they were faced with a major problem.

Warming spells did not work here.

She could conjure a magical fire, but though the flames crackled and danced, she felt absolutely no heat when she placed her hands above them. The best Hermione had been able to do was conjure a massive goose-down winter coat with a fur-lined hood, which made her arms stick out in front of her rather absurdly but kept some of the chill at bay.

She could tell, however, that it would not do for long. She dreaded to think how cold the air would become once night fell. Hermione knew that the only way to battle this new enemy was to examine the clues she had been given. So it was with mounting dread that she approached the row of dull gray swords resting against the snow a little ways off from the place where Malfoy had conjured a flimsy tent and begun to set up camp.

Part of her wished Malfoy would join her in examining the swords, but her pride kept her from asking him for assistance. He had his own way of doing things, and she had learned that she did not always come out the better for challenging him. Yet she could not keep her mind from wandering to him as she approached the swords. She still could not quite believe... The thrill she had experience when he had kissed her had been unparalleled. She wondered whether she was now in a position to walk up to him and kiss him any time if it took her fancy. She wanted to a little more badly than she cared to admit. But this place had a knack for driving them both a bit crazy, and she had no idea how he might react.

She realized that she was staring at him, and turned away hastily a moment before he looked up. She could see him staring intently from the corner of her eye and busied herself with examining the swords. A few simple diagnostic spells told her that they carried a powerful enchantment.

"I know you're not stupid enough to touch those," Draco called over warningly.

Good lord, the mere sound of his voice made her stomach perform a series of disconcerting little back-flips. Hermione kept marveling at the sensation, then remembering abruptly that he was _Draco Malfoy_, then asking herself whether that mattered so very much.

"They're enchanted," Hermione replied, keeping her voice relatively even. "I'd guess we've got to touch them to become able to cast a warming spell."

_There are other ways to keep warm,_ he drawled in her head, and Hermione administered a good hard mental slap to herself. The real Draco was eyeing her coat, his expression grim but his eyes vaguely amused.

"You look as though you'll keep warm just fine," he said.

Hermione raised her wand. "Do you want me to conjure you one?"

"I'd rather freeze to death."

A moment later he had dodged the snowball she had conjured and thrown at his head, laughing.

* * *

**A/N:** You know what's fun? Going for a pleasant walk and nearly getting concussed because of a hail storm. In the middle of July. Happy birthday to me. Anyway your reviews, as always, are muchly appreciated: **justy13, yourxenium, fallenhero57, Angel Left Wing, Artemisgodess, garrxmrchairfan, everlastingtrueromance, IDanceToForget** (Do you have any more JohnLock vidoes? Just, um, curious. *NOTSHIPPINGIT*), **marana1, abcd1225, Moriarsh, JMLMonkey, MattsMarshMello, Credit18, SavvyJackie** (Haha I identify as a Gryffindor and that's where Pottermore sorted me, but like, sometimes, on Friday nights, I'm a Slytherin sort of :P), **roseberrygirl, Speechwriter** (Hahaha wendigo! Wish I'd thought of that. And oh god I'm glad I'm not the only one who hates writing smut. One of my creative writing profs tried to make writing full-on sex scenes an assignment once and I just about had a nervous breakdown.), **kaname's harisen** (CITRUS! Love it. *crying with laughter*), **dmforever, Weirdskylines, TheNewCompanion, lauran enquist, love-warmth-life, Singtoangels1, Eternity-xxx, DollyJani, frayed vanilla, HarleenQuinzel7654, SummerLove16, twoTongues, frunzamonicaionana, Guest, dark-phoenix17, Lupinara...** Cheers!


	23. Departure

**XXIII – Departure**

"_Here they are! I've found them!"_

_A body crashing into hers. Panic biting at the heels of comfort, blurring the edges of thoughts._

_Cornered by betrayal._

"_Why?"_

_The pressure of a hand on hers. No answer._

* * *

He was sleeping. Hermione approached Draco's makeshift tent with caution, wondering whether she ought to wait until he woke up. But she was bursting to speak to someone, anyone, and he was her only option.

And then, to be more truthful, she was bursting to speak to _him_.

She tried clearing her throat, but received no response. Edging through the opening in the tent, Hermione dragged her feet along the ground to make as much noise as possible. But to her frustration, when he came into view, Draco was still stubbornly deep in sleep.

He looked disarmingly unguarded. Hermione had caught glimpses of him sleeping before but had never really stopped to look properly. A faint frown line was creasing his brow. His hair was in disarray, his skin covered in a slight sheen of sweat, and he kept shifting restlessly from side to side. His hands bunched in the heavy fur blankets he had conjured, gripping them until his knuckles turned white. Hermione stepped closer, concerned that he might be ill.

"Oh, fuck," he hissed, eyes still shut tight.

Hermione cleared her throat again.

"I can't—" He said hoarsely. "Fuck, _Granger, fuck._"

Hermione's jaw dropped.

"Malfoy!" she said loudly.

His eyes flew open and he sat up with a gasp, looking around wildly. He seemed extremely disoriented. When his eyes fell on Hermione he licked his lips and caught his breath. His pupils were dilated.

"Are... are you all right?" Hermione squealed, fighting the blush that was creeping up her face with all her might.

Draco was silent for a moment. His hands were still clenched into fists.

"What do you want?" he snapped.

Hermione was not deterred. It was beginning to grow painfully clear to her that Draco's actions seldom matched up with his words. He drawled insults, he feigned impatience, and yet invariably his behaviour was much more chivalrous than she expected.

"I've worked it out," she said without looking at him. If she looked at him she would not be able to stop staring. If she looked at him she would lose her train of thought entirely.

"Worked _what_ out?"

"Why we're here. I've just been speaking to Harry through the Galleon. The people who trapped us here also kidnapped Kingsley Shacklebolt's niece."

Draco's gaze sharpened and he raked his fingers through his hair. "Why would they need to do that? I thought they were in league with—"

"With the Ministry, right, so did I! How else would they have gained access to the Department of Mysteries? Harry says he's been informed by someone called the First Wand that this organization, whatever it is, dates back hundreds of years, and that they've been developing people as weapons to use against the dark arts. So, Draco, why did they tell you to search for a stolen family heirloom in the Department of Mysteries?"

"How did you—?"

"Don't insult my intelligence," Hermione interrupted. "Before we ended up here you made all sorts of vague hints about 'forces' not to be trifled with. But you obviously didn't really know what you were talking about. They played you."

"To get me killed," Draco finished grimly.

"To get us both killed. For knowing too much. But this place isn't overtly deadly, so that must mean it has a deadly outcome. It's a training ground, Harry says. And the Muggles that are picked up off the streets are brought here as live bait. So the inference is that—"

"Only one of these fucking _test subjects_ Chiswick's always on about can come out alive," Draco completed. "By killing the others."

"Exactly!" said Hermione triumphantly. "Now, the island we were on started disintegrating, and that must have been because the First Wand and his lot have decided to discontinue the project. But they needn't have bothered because what they didn't know was that Chiswick didn't just go mad."

"_Eliminate the test subjects._"

"Right. He found out about this experiment and was determined to systematically tear it apart. That's why he stole your family's lantern: to inhibit his own transformation."

"Transformation... Inhibit his—what?""

"All this business about werewolves! Isn't it obvious? The First Wand and his group were developing Lycanthropy into a weapon, and Chiswick thought he could use your magic inhibitor to suppress his transformations long enough to stay in his right mind and carry out an attack on everyone else involved."

Hermione broke off, breathing heavily. She could feel her heart racing. This was better, much better, than simply solving a series of Arithmancy problems at school. This felt almost as triumphant as discovering the identity of a new Horcrux.

"Of course, there's one thing I still don't understand," she said.

"What's that?"

"Why did Pankhurst capture... Terrence?" Hermione asked. It caused her a hollow pang to speak of Terrence so soon after his death.

"Pankhurst was a wanker," said Draco darkly. "Probably had the time of his life infiltrating this secret group. Hunting Muggles."

Hermione regarded him curiously. "Then why did you save him?"

Draco's face changed abruptly. It was really remarkable to watch how his eyes grew shuttered and the lines around his mouth tightened. She had often wondered how anyone could allow themselves to be led into a life so dissolute as that of a Death Eater. She thought, now, that it might have been a result of his preternatural ability to compartmentalize his emotions.

"I don't give a fuck about fucking Muggles or House Elves or any of those bleeding heart causes your lot waste all your time on," he drawled, but his voice lacked conviction. He looked a hundred miles away. "That doesn't mean I'm a—a fucking butcher. Nutters like Greyback and Macnair... getting hard-ons from killing. I can't—There was this foreign couple I was meant to finish off. Flooed all the way out to Australia to do it, and I told myself I'd fucking do it this time. I followed them down the street and the bloke was going on and on about fucking _dental floss_, for Christ's sake. But she—his wife—she was just sort of looking at him and she looked... sad. Like she could see something no one else could. And I just... left."

He laughed humourlessly.

"I knew that would be it. I was halfway convinced I could just go back and do the thing properly. I would've been done for, he would have found out. But just four days later was the battle at Hogwarts, so nothing ever came of it."

"What had the couple done?" Hermione asked in a hushed voice, because she felt compelled to quell the charged silence that had settled in the tent. "Who were they?"

"Williams—No, Wilkins," Draco answered vaguely. "Wendell and Monica Wilkins."

* * *

A sea of blinding camera flashes. Shouted queries and faces shoving to the forefront.

"If I could have silence, please."

A room electric with anticipation.

"I am here today as your Head of the Department of International magical Cooperation's Auror Office, to bring the public up to date on—"

"Where's Harry Potter? When's 'e gonna talk 'bout what's goin' on?"

"If you would kindly keep your questions until the end of the session. Now, as I say, we are here to discuss the abduction and subsequent safe recovery of Clara Shacklebolt—"

"Why's the Ministry been hiding this, eh?"

"_Where's Harry Potter?_"

"Hear, hear!"

A loud crash. The reign of silence.

A throat cleared. "Mr Shacklebolt, it is not advised that you speak on this occasion..."

"Thank you, Robards. That will be all."

A hasty retreat.

Eager eyes, hungry for answers. For someone to blame.

"Witches and wizards. Your patience is appreciated. For many years now, our world has been operating under the silent subjugation of a group calling themselves the Wands..."

In a shadowy corner, four figures standing in quiet contemplation.

"This is a waste of time. Press conferences aren't doing anything to get Hermione out."

"Oh, Harry, darling, have you learned nothing about the power of public opinion?"

A fierce toss of red hair. "That'll be enough of _that._"

"Oh not to worry, little girl, it's hands off the Chosen One. I have a biography to complete."

* * *

Hermione's legs quite simply stopped supporting her weight. She found herself sitting down violently in the snow, her mouth opening and closing soundlessly.

"Are you—ill, or something?" Draco asked, frowning at her.

"I—I—can't—" Hermione clutched at her throat. "Can't breathe..."

Draco approached her and made a convulsive motion as though he meant to reach down and comfort her. But after a moment he merely stood and watched her, nonplussed.

_Wendell and Monica Wilkins..._

Hermione closed her eyes. All she could see were her mother and father standing before her, beckoning, but incredibly far away. They did not even know where she was. What was happening to her. For all they knew she had failed to contact them for weeks now because she was too selfishly preoccupied with her own life to be bothered. And in a way, that was true. She had been too caught up in the mystery that was Chiswick's disappearance to think how it would affect them. Just as she had been too beholden to Harry and the war by the end of her Hogwarts days to stop herself from removing her family's memories of her and sending them to live abroad with the vague hope they would make it through.

And now, it seemed they very nearly had not.

Hermione staggered to her feet, seizing Draco by the collar for support. All at once he was very close and his face filled her whole world and she thought that she could kiss him and let the feel of him burn everything else away.

But she was cold. She was numb. And she could not feel her fingers brushing against his chest. So instead she staggered back and ran out of the tent into the winter wind, relishing the bite of frost against her face.

"What are you doing?" he called after her, but she could not answer.

Hermione tore blindly through the wintry landscape until her foot caught on something hard protruding from the ground and she was propelled forward, throwing out her hands to break her fall. Her palm landed on a cold steel blade which dug into her skin, drawing blood.

The instant blood came into contact with metal a fiery madness invaded her mind and Hermione was seized by a violent compulsion to take up the sword and plunge it straight through the nearest living being she could find. To feel steel piercing flesh, to tear into a beating heart and—

"This isn't fucking funny!"

Hermione whipped around and saw Draco stalking up to her. And already, to her horror, she was raising the sword.

So Hermione did the only thing she could. She turned and ran, as fast as her legs would carry her. She ran far, far away from Draco.

* * *

"Hello, Clara. Do you mind if I sit with you?"

A small nod. Eyes averted.

"Thank you. My name is—"

"Harry Potter. I know."

A rueful chuckle. "Right."

"You want to know about the First Wand."

"I'm sorry. But a friend of mine is in danger. This could be important."

"It's all right."

A quill and parchment. A keen gaze.

"You must have heard some of your abductors' plans while you were with them..."

"They were infecting people."

"With Lycanthropy, yes. We know that much."

"No."

"I'm sorry?"

"Not Lycanthropy. It was something else, something more."

A suspended quill, forgotten.

"What?"

"A cross. Werewolf and Manticore and Selkie... All the most dangerous parts. All mixed together."

"Are—Are you _sure?_"

"I remember."

A silence, grim and foreboding. Thunderstruck.

* * *

Hermione raced across the snow, the sword still clutched in her hand, panting but unwilling to stop. If she stopped, her instincts would over power her, and she would turn around and track Draco down. And then there was no knowing what the consequences might be.

She did not know where she was going. She thought her body might soon begin to shut down from the cold. At last she staggered to a halt before a massive crevice in the ice and looked around her desperately. There was no way around; the crevice extended for what looked like miles in either direction.

There were footsteps approaching behind her.

_Damn,_ said Harry and Ron in unison.

She forced herself to turn and face Chiswick, who had crept up behind her holding a sword.

"Here we are, here we are," he said in a quiet growl.

"What happened to you?" Hermione asked, tightening her grip on her sword and pulling out her wand.

Chiswick did not answer. He charged he, his lips pulled back in a ghastly snarl.

Hermione raised her sword.

* * *

**A/N:** First of all, huge thanks to **yourxenium** for giving me the idea for the scene at the beginning. You rock. Secondly, if you're not already aware, JKR has secretly released a book under the pseudonym Robert Galbraith. It's called "The Cuckoo's Calling," it's a crime novel, I sprinted to the bookstore in the rain last night to buy it, and it's really good so far. READ IT! Third, immense thanks as always to all who reviewed: **SavvyJackie, frayed vanilla, happywritingx, HarleenQuinzel7654, marana1, dmforever, Iseult, yourxenium, everlastingtrueromance, garryxmrchairfan, anononymas, JMLMonkey, IDanceToForget, Weirdskylines, chocomieux, DestructiveMind, Calimocho, bonniebird, MakoHill, mongolberry, justy13, snortlovesrice...** Cheers!


	24. The Tempest

**XXIV – The Tempest**

_A frantic duel. Curses colliding and exploding in mid-air._

"_Get them. Get them!"_

_Back to back, battling fiercely. A slash through the air. Wands hissing and spitting magic._

_An overwhelming blast of power._

_Stillness._

* * *

Chiswick's primal scream rang in her ears and Hermione threw herself to the side to avoid his attack, hoping that he might simply fall through the crevice in the ice. But Chiswick swiveled with unnatural agility and leapt at her with a manic light in his eyes. He was muttering incoherently and slobbering and his eyes were rolling in his head.

Hermione had no experience whatsoever with sword fighting, but her nerves were whispering the next move to her and the magic of the sword seemed prepared to do all the work. She swung it in a vicious arc and steel clashed with steel. But her strength did not nearly match Chiswick's. He threw her back without difficulty and she slipped on the ice, toppling painfully to the ground.

"_Incarcerous!_" she cried, but Chiswick sliced through the ropes that wound around him in mid-air, and they fell away like limp serpents. Hermione swore under her breath. He _never_ gave up!

Their swords met again with an ear-splitting screech. She could not support the weight, and her arms sagged. Chiswick surged forward and just nicked her hand again with the edge of his blade, so that her palm now bore criss-crossing cuts. She could no longer even feel the pain of it in the cold, but the blood alarmed her. She could not afford to be weakened any further.

Hermione rolled out of the way just as Chiswick brought his full weight down to bear on her. His sword sank into the packed snow and seemed to stick there. As he tugged at it Hermione staggered up and raised her weapon without thought, madness singing through her blood. She had to slice, cut, _kill_.

_No_, said a voice forcefully in her head. Her own voice, for once. She paused.

With a mighty heave Chiswick pulled his sword out of the snow.

He lunged at her. She ducked.

She sent three stunners at him. He dodged them.

They began to circle one another.

_Kill!_ Her instincts screamed at her, rushing, surging, her heartbeat magnified into the pulse of a war drum. _Hack, slash, kill!_

But she was stronger than this magic. This was dark magic, and dark magic had never beaten Harry, and so it would not beat her.

"Please," Hermione breathed, lowering her sword point. "_Please_, I know you must be in there somewhere. I know you must be able to hear me. _Stop this_. We can work together."

Very slowly, she bent down to lay her sword on the ground. She straightened up unarmed and lifted her hands in the air in a gesture of good will. See? No danger here.

She knew the moment she had done it, the moment Draco gaped in horror in her head and yelled at her to stop being so fucking stupid, that it had been a mistake.

Chiswick charged her. Again. In her surprise she sidestepped him, not realizing that her back was to the crevice in the ice. As she watched in dismay, Chiswick toppled into the void, his screams echoing all the way down as he fell.

* * *

"Wait, wait! Dudley, slow down. Who's missing?"

"Bloke from the office. Terrence White."

"And what exactly happened to him."

A sigh. Fists clenched as if straining for complex thought.

"He was... taken by some of y—your lot."

"Who?"

"Some woman named... Pancakes."

"Er. Pancakes? You're sure?"

A slight cough.

"Yeah... No. Pank_hurst_."

A gasp. Eyes wide, exchanging silent, panicked communication.

"How long has he been missing, Dudley? This is important."

"A fortnight or two, I guess—"

"Don't guess! Was it one or was it two?"

Forehead creased in an angry frown. Arms crossed.

"Listen, I don't—"

"Think, for Merlin's sake, think!"

"_Merlin?_"

"Never mind, never mind. Ron, you know what this means. We have to go to Narcissa straight away."

"I'm not bloody going back there, the woman's got cursed peacocks on her front lawn! It's your turn."

"Oh, for—Look, we'll both go."

Glancing at a heavy gold pocket watch.

"Sit tight, Big D. We'll be back soon."

Footsteps shuffling down the hall. A pair of loud _cracks_ from outside.

A pause.

"Merlin?"

* * *

Hermione waved her wand and conjured a rope ladder, which she threw down into the icy darkness of the crevice. She was not at all certain that her poor, frozen hands would be able to sustain her weight through a voyage down, but she had to try.

_What the fuck?_ Draco snarled in her head. But Harry was nodding.

Halfway down her hands began to shake so badly that she became frightened she might fall. Hermione tried blowing warm breath on them, to very little effect, and her eyes fixed on her cuts. They were deep and still oozing a little blood, though they did not look infected. She wondered...

"_Aestus calor_," she murmured, and was instantly enveloped by a balm of soothing warmth.

Now that she had spilled blood, she was apparently allowed to perform magic to save herself from freezing to death. Gone too, she realized, was that savage instinct to tear into the nearest living thing. So whatever had happened to Chiswick, he must have been the worse for wear.

Oh, for heaven's sake. Whoever had invented this place... they were _sick_.

With her wand clutched between her teeth Hermione continued to climb down, until very little light was left filtering through, and she could barely see her own hands in front of her. How far down could the crevice possibly go? Then she heard a piteous groaning sound and whipped around.

"_Lumos._"

Chiswick was holding onto a small ledge protruding from the opposite wall of ice, his legs dangling above the abyss that continued down for Merlin knew how long. He was thin and old and wild-looking, and Hermione could not imagine that he would be able to hold on much longer. He had knocked his head against something in his fall and opened an ugly gash that was trickling blood down the side of his face.

"Give me your hand. I can pull you up."

He snarled at her, baring his teeth.

"Give me your hand!" she repeated urgently.

A chunk of ice detached itself from the ledge and struck Chiswick across the face before it toppled away into darkness. The sudden brush with oblivion seemed to strike some small measure of lucidity back into him, because he looked at Hermione with a sharpness she had not seen in his eyes before.

"You won't survive it," he said hoarsely.

"What?"

"The transformation. You won't survive it. In a few days, it will take you, and your mind will... You will be..." He was straining to formulate words, but his dearth of energy was obviously weighing on him. Hermione tried reaching across the crevice herself to grasp his arm, but he was just a little out of reach.

"There isn't going to be a transformation," said Hermione fiercely, thinking of Draco. Trying her hardest _not_ to think of Draco, not on those terms. "This sick experiment is going to be exposed and people are going to get treatment and those responsible will go to Azkaban."

But Chiswick laughed, a ghastly sound like dry leaves raked against pavement.

"Too late," he said. "Much too late."

"I don't—"

"To complete the transformation," he said, his hands slipping, and Hermione's heart beat a wild tattoo against her chest and she reached for him. "To complete the transformation, you have to—"

He fell.

Hermione screamed. Her screams echoed back at her, amplified a hundredfold by the claustrophobic tightness of the walls of ice.

"_Accio!_" she cried, knowing full well how ridiculous she was being. "_Accio Chiswick!_"

Nothing happened. Furious tears leaked out of the corners of her eyes and she fought to maintain control of herself in this deep, dark, traitorous place where the very air around her felt ill-intentioned.

At last, when the surge of despair had passed, she began to climb back up.

* * *

When Hermione was eight years old she had found that she could make the hairpins piled on her dresser rattle and move around if she concentrated long enough. She had immediately looked up her symptoms in her parents' library and become utterly convinced that she was suffering paranoid delusions. She had demanded that they take her to see a child psychologist so that she could get well and her chances at graduating with honors from the country's best schools would not be compromised.

Bewildered, her parents had taken her to see a kindly doctor down the lane, who had concluded that there was absolutely nothing wrong with Hermione besides a healthy imagination. She had, of course, been unable to reproduce the effects on the doctor's own hairpins when asked. Hermione had made a firm pact with herself never to question her sanity again, and she had held to it. Until now.

She had lost rather a lot of blood, so she staggered back to camp feeling lightheaded and a little disoriented. Thus she was inclined to question her hold on reality when she saw that Draco's entire tent, along with its contents, had been torn asunder and thrown violently against the ground. She panicked, assuming that this section of the labyrinth had begun to break down just like the island had done. But the snow around the camp was pristine, undisturbed.

The clutching, gnawing, hot-cold wave of raw fear that assailed her at the thought that something could have happened to Draco took her by surprise. Was she losing her mind?

Then she saw him, sitting in a pile of debris that had been the frame of his cot. There were oddly shaped cuts and bruises on his hands that suggested he had torn apart the camp himself. His hair was a complete mess. He looked despondent.

Hermione approached him cautiously, touching her wand to a pile of torn canvas, which promptly ignited and began radiating warmth. At last Draco looked up, and a startling array of emotions crossed his face: relief, dismay, anger, exultation. His eyes caught hers and would not let go.

"You're here," he breathed.

"And just in time, too, it seems," she replied in an attempt at levity. "Did a tornado come through, or something?"

Disjointedly, Hermione thought back to the time when Harry had admitted to tearing apart Dumbledore's office after Sirius's death. Boys always had such a silly inability to contain themselves when upset...

_Get out of it,_ Harry grumbled in her head, and Hermione realized a moment later that she ought not to have let out a chuckle at that. Draco stood up very quickly, his gaze boring into hers until she felt thrown off balance.

He seized her shoulders, shaking her lightly as if to test whether she was real. "I thought..."

"What?" Hermione asked.

"I thought you'd left—you'd decided—" It seemed he could not go on, but Hermione could see the rest written plainly on his face.

He had thought she had decided to leave him behind; to make her own way.

"The sword made me want to kill you," Hermione explained quietly.

Draco surprised her by grabbing her wrist and wrenching it up to his eyes to examine the cuts she had not yet bothered to heal. He threw it down and clamped his hand around her jaw, pulling her closer.

"Don't—" He took an unsteady breath. "Don't fucking _do_ that without... warning me."

His panic tugged at something deep in her gut, making her light-headedness much more pronounced.

"Don't, all right?" he repeated, dipping his head lower to speak in her ear. He nipped at her earlobe and insisted, "Answer me."

"I—All right," Hermione muttered, struggling in her ridiculous winter coat as she strained to get closer to him. With a flick of Draco's wand the coat was gone.

And suddenly he was gripping her and shoving her back against the one remaining tent post, and her back slammed painfully into the wood as his mouth latched onto the base of her neck. And his hands were sliding greedily beneath her blouse, and she was following suit, bunching her fists in the fabric of his cloak and pulling and _tearing_. It was as though nothing had changed and a voice was still pushing her to attack, and she dropped her head and bit his shoulder, wrapping her legs tightly around his waist.

He groaned and staggered under her weight. Tearing off his cloak with one hand, he threw it onto the ground and lowered her down slowly so that she was not lying in the snow. In a few quick, fluid movements he had removed her blouse and skirt, and Hermione's head was whirling, because it was real, he was really there, dipping his fingers beneath the waistband of her knickers and making her gasp, and somehow there was no time to think at all and she bit the inside of her cheek, tasting blood, as he undid his belt with his free hand. She nearly growled in frustration at the time it took him to remove his trousers, and she made to sit up to reach him, but he pushed her forcefully back down. It seemed as though he was punishing her for leaving. Hermione glared and dug her heels into the ground.

"I left to protect both of us," she said raggedly. She wound her fingers into his hair and pulled him down to kiss him, and his hips pressed into hers and they both forced down a moan. "I had to, it was all I could do. And I'd do it again."

"No," he said, grinding his hips forward with furious force and licking a trail up her to her shoulder from her abdomen. She shuddered.

"Yes," she responded. She pressed violent kisses against his jaw and then she forgot how to breathe and how to move and how to speak because he had shoved her knickers to the side and he was there, he was waiting, and she blinked and urged him on with a desperate sigh.

He pushed into her with a string of jumbled syllables that might have been words—_fuckHermioneohfuckfuckfuck_—and the world went dark and he was the only real thing and she was desperate for him to move.

"Yes," she repeated. Yes, he began to thrust and she thought she would scream and she could never let him stop, never again. Yes, and their hands were laced together and pinned above her head. Yes, and she was rushing headlong towards something monumental and sublime and her mind was a blissful blank and stars exploded behind her eyelids and she clung to him as tightly as she could, refusing to let go.

Yes.

* * *

**A/N:** Guys, don't give your ff or tumblr urls to anyone in real life, the results may be catastrophic. This has been a PSA by me. Okay, huge thanks to all you dashing, gorgeous, probably nice-smelling people who reviewed (What? I don't know. And btw you guys ARE welcome to come talk to me on tumblr any time. Link in my profile). **CharmedBooklett, SavvyJackie, Iseult, TheNewCompanion, HarleenQuinzel7654, everlastingtrueromance, roseberrygirl, IDanceToForget, justy13, Preciousblue, Calimocho, anononymas, snortlovesrice, yourxenium, buttercup, Moriarsh, Lupinara, Morena25, kaname's harisen, Mrs-N-Usumaki, GoldenPheasant, Delighted, Witbeyond, LC003...** I've never had a fic break 400 reviews before! This is super exciting you're all champions! Cheers.


	25. Without Respite

**XXV – Without Respite**

_Burgeoning awareness._

_An inferno. Light and sound and rush. Holding on for dear life._

"_Don't—" _

_Don't let me go._

* * *

Hermione slept as soundly as she had ever done in her life, with the crackling fire keeping her warm and the comforting weight of an arm slung over her waist. When she awoke near the hour of sunrise, however, it was to the realization that Draco had not shared in her peaceful rest.

He was tossing and turning in sleep, his features contorted in anguish. Pale, cloudy striations marred the wintry sky, casting a pall over the fading moonlight, and at first Hermione thought he was having the sort of embarrassing dream she had surprised him in the middle of before. Then he shifted into a patch of light and she was appalled. No, of _course_ this was not that kind of dream. He was crying out in fear.

"Please," he moaned, eyes clamped shut, fists clenched. "_Please_, don't make me. I can't—don't—_can't_... Don't make me!"

Something in Hermione's chest seemed to fold in on itself painfully. She realized with a jolt that he was repeating the same words he had spoken when he had touched the enchanted ceiling to regain his magic. He was reliving the torture he had been forced to perpetrate under Voldemort's reign.

And perhaps she should have turned away from him, averted her eyes and crossed her arms and thought to herself, well, serve him right. But it was far too late for all that. Instead she felt a desperate need to _fix it_. To make the ugly marks on his past—much more hideous than the mark on his arm—go away.

"Draco," she said.

"_Please,_" he repeated.

"Draco!"

He stilled at the sound of her voice, but did not wake. Hermione reached out with a shaking hand and smoothed his hair from his forehead. She could not bring herself to prod him out of sleep now that he looked so unguarded. He said it one final time, _please_, like some kind of counter-curse that might guard him from evil. Hermione drew back and hugged her knees to her chest, thinking of a time when she herself had begged and pleaded, screamed and cried. In his home. He had been standing mere feet away.

The sun came up. Hermione made sure that she was quite busy clearing away the ruined camp when it did, so that Draco could not see the strain in her face when he awoke.

_Stupid_, she told herself. She had not expected to feel this sort of awkwardness. It was entirely juvenile. Except that awkwardness was not really the right word. She was, she supposed, a little frightened.

Once she had initiated it, silence reigned between them. Draco watched her, _intently_, but said nothing. They walked due north together, in the opposite direction from the crevice that had swallowed up Chiswick. Hermione kept herself informed of the goings on in the outside world through her DA coin. Yet she felt a treacherous warmth flooding her cheeks each time she spoke to Ron or Harry without sharing the enormity of the change in her dynamic with Draco. And every time Draco glanced at her as she tapped the coin with her wand, her discomfort turned to a furious blush.

The next night was more of the same. Hermione wondered whether he might touch her, and decided she would rather take a little time to gather her thoughts. But she need not have worried. Draco built his camp directly next to hers, and, ignoring her soundly, turned over and fell asleep.

This time when she heard him muttering through his nightmares she did not sit up. A part of her wanted nothing more than to press her face to his chest and soothe him back into dreamless slumber, but he had always rebuked her attempts to speak to him about his troubles so aggressively... She did not see that there was much she could do. She did not think she could stand it if he woke up and snapped at her.

Hermione did not realize that she had drifted into uneasy sleep until she turned over and her head lolled off her pillow, jolting her awake. The first thing she noticed was that her blanket, usually rumpled and kicked out of place, had been pulled up and tucked around her. The second thing she noticed was that Draco was sitting up a little ways away, staring into the dancing flames of their campfire with his eyes hard as flint.

She watched him. She could not bring herself to stop.

"Granger, Granger," he drawled quietly. "Stare any longer and your eyes'll fall out."

Hermione pursed her lips. She wished he knew other ways of speaking his mind.

"It was my parents," she blurted, because she had to say it, she just _had_ to. She could not keep it in any longer.

Draco turned slowly to look at her.

"Wendell and Monica Wilkins," Hermione clarified. "They're my parents. That's why Voldemort wanted them dead."

He did not blink. His mouth quirked into a queer, lopsided expression halfway between a scowl and a grimace, and Hermione's heartbeat stuttered uncomfortably. There it was again: she was afraid. And she thought she might be missing something.

"I know," said Draco, so quietly she barely heard him.

"You—_what?_"

"I know."

Hermione's throat was closing up. Her tongue was choking her. She wished anger would come to her defense, but instead her mind was a ringing chorus of _why?_ Why had he lied? Why had he _told_ her? Why—in—Merlin's—name...

And, as usual, he read her mood like an open book.

"I wanted to see what you'd do," Draco said, looking away from her again. Why was it that he always seemed to know her thoughts so well? "I thought you'd leave if I told you."

And she _had_ left, though not for the reason he'd thought. And he'd broken everything in their camp to pieces.

"You wanted me to leave?" It hurt. _Badly_.

He arched an eyebrow. "I didn't say that."

"Then why did you—?"

He murmured something that sounded like _for the best_, and suddenly, out of nowhere, Hermione was furious. She was enraged.

"Funny," she said loftily, throwing him her best glare, "I was under the impression I could make decisions for myself. How silly of me."

He looked at her, and slowly, almost imperceptibly, the cool look in his eyes broke and changed and then reasserted itself.

He shifted closer to her. "I'm sorry."

"I—you—" Just as quickly as her blood had boiled over, Hermione found herself at a loss.

"I'm sorry," Draco said, his tone utterly expressionless. And that was how she knew he meant it: he was trying to hide how very much turmoil it caused him to admit his wrongs.

"I... see," she said lamely. Hermione cursed herself inwardly. _I see?_ What in the world...? But Draco did not seem to notice. All at once his hands were on her hips and his lips were everywhere, placing soft kisses on her forehead, her neck, her hands. Her mind jammed.

Things would be different, she realized, even when they left this labyrinth and rejoined the world. He was making things different. There was no way they would be able to act as though this had been a misguided tryst, a liaison born of cabin fever. Not when he was kissing her like that, looking at her like _that_.

"I'm sorry," he repeated, divesting her of her cloak and makeshift nightgown.

Harry would understand, she suspected, though the Harry in her head protested vehemently. But Ron... she would not lose Ron over anything, not after all they had been through. And then Draco kissed—oh, Merlin—he placed a kiss on her hipbone with a sort of desperate sigh that was so enticing she shivered in the warmth of the campfire, and no, she would not stand to lose Draco, either.

Would he even want her when they got out? Would the harsh light of the world above make him think he was coming to his senses?

But she could no longer spare a single shred of though for anything other than his lips and his warm breath brushing the inside of her thigh and his hands on her waist.

"What—What are you doing?" she squeaked, scrambling to push her knees together in alarm. But he held her firmly in place.

"What does it look like?" he asked in an uncharacteristically hoarse voice.

"You—I—I don't..."

He gave her an odd look and his eyebrows drew together, as though he was coming to some unlikely realization.

"_Christ_, Weasley," he muttered, sounding almost angry. Without giving her time to protest he dipped his head lower and Hermione's mouth fell open in a silent cry as the world blurred and she dug her hands shakily into the snow and lost herself completely.

Later, when she'd had time to consider blushing and decided against tedious modesty, he pushed himself up to lie beside her and propped himself on one elbow, watching her with his eyes blazing brighter than the rising dawn. And still his hands trailed over her shoulder, down her side, up her back, unrelenting.

"I'm sorry," he said again. Hermione knew from his tone that he was apologizing for things long past, for her screams after the Snatchers had caught her and the way he'd been standing mere feet away and perhaps even for things said and done at school. She wanted to say something in return, but already he was moving over her, resting his arms solidly on either side of her shoulders and kissing her like she was in danger of vanishing. Then he was inside her and she was soaring, she was holding onto him too tightly, she was going to leave bruises, but he was not objecting, he was reaching out to grasp either side of her head, forcing her to face him and look at him and take in the scorching look in his eyes—a little reverent and a little unhinged.

"Please," he said. _Please what?_ She answered with a garbled noise, but he insisted, "I'm sorry. Please, Imsorryimsorryimsorry."

"I—"

"Say you don't hate me. _I'm so fucking sorry_. Please say—please—" His movements slowed and he was looking at her like he was waiting for something, but what? She could not quite focus, not quite force her mind to grasp what was happening, though she sensed it was important.

"Say you forgive me."

_Don't stop._

"Pleasesayitimsorryimsosorrysosorry..."

_Don't—_

"Hermione." His voice was strangled, agonized. Pleading. "Hermionehermionehermione—"

"I—yes—sorry," she breathed. It was all she could manage and she hoped he understood.

He kissed her, long and slow, taking her breath away.

_Dontstopdontstopdontstop..._

His hands found hers, gripped tight, and he repeated in her ear one more time, "Hermione."

* * *

"What do you mean, traitor?"

"Exactly what I just said. Your man Pankhurst is in with the First Wand."

An impatient _tsking_. Eyes narrowed, anger clashing with anger.

"I'm afraid, Potter, that just because you have the _Prophet_ and even, it seems, _Rita Skeeter_ wrapped around your little finger, your word will not be taken as gospel here—"

"Wait... Skeeter... Pankhurst—Shit! Harry!"

"Not now, Ron."

Advancing inexorably. A menacing glare.

"There's no time to waste, Mrs. Malfoy. You've been taken in—We all have. It could be life and death."

"Harry—"

"Where is Pankhurst now?"

Hesitation.

"He has been out of contact for... several days."

"Harry—"

"Damn. _Damn_. We have to find him."

"_Harry!_"

"_What?_"

"Remember that letter from Skeeter? She said something about... Chiswick's neighbor. Tamara Pankhurst."

A charged silence.

"Oh hell. Ron—this could mean—"

"I beg your pardon. What nonsense is this?"

"Let's go, right now. I can't believe we missed— Narcissa, you've got to do _everything you can_ to find Pankhurst."

The hem of a cloak disappearing around a corner. Protests unheard.

* * *

Hermione's head burst into a haze of fiery pain and she stumbled back, gasping and retching. This was by far the worst headache yet. Her vision blackening, she tripped and felt a pair of steady arms grip her tightly and pull her upright just before she hit the ground.

"I don't understand," she said suspiciously when she had caught her breath. "Weren't the doors becoming _more_ difficult to find?"

Draco let go of her and frowned at the slab of carved ice that loomed before them. He, too, looked out of breath and weak with pain. It had been so _strong_.

"I've seen something like this before," he muttered, walking around the ice carving and examining it carefully.

"Really?"

"Yeah." He winced as an aftershock of the headache hit him, appearing to hang onto his train of thought by a thread. "Used to be a Christmas festival in Wiltshire... Mistletoe and charmed father Christmases and all kinds of rubbish... Some Mudblood family used to enter the ice sculpting competition every year and submit these weird sort of archways that Apparated you to the top of the hill when you walked through them—" He broke off suddenly when he noticed the look on Hermione's face. "What?"

"I—can't—believe—" she hissed, barely coherent. She felt lightheaded with outrage. That word, that same old, hateful word rang through her head again and again.

Mudblood.

_Mudblood._

_Filthy little Mudblood._

Draco's eyes widened and he seemed to realize what was happening. It was clear that he hadn't meant to say it, it had simply slipped out. _Not_ a good enough excuse.

Mudblood.

"I didn't—" He had the audacity to scowl. "Fuck, would you calm down? You look like you're about to—"

"You're telling me to _calm down?_" Her voice rose dangerously. She was surprised flames were not bursting from her wand.

"It's just a _word_. It doesn't fucking _mean_ anything."

_Imsorryimsorryimsorry..._

"How can you say that?" Hermione burst out. She was yelling now. She did not care.

"Would you just—"

"If it doesn't mean anything then _none _of it meant anything! Do you realize what you're saying? The war, all of it—it was _all_ for nothing! _Do you understand?_"

"Hermione—Shit! Stop!"

"How can you—"

"No, you're fucking bleeding!"

She swallowed her rage in confusion and reached up to feel warm liquid trickling down her neck from her ear.

"What—?"

Hermione looked up at Draco in alarm. His nose was bleeding.

They were supposed to be walking through the door, that was it. This headache had been the worst one, and they had ignored it, and soon another would come, pulverising their heads from the inside out. Throwing Draco a scathing glare, she drew the frozen door open with a flick of her wand and scrambled through, knowing, somehow, what she would find on the other side.

"Is this...?" Draco asked behind her, his voice shaking with the remnants of anger and frustration.

"Yes," said Hermione shortly. "That must have been the last door. We're back in the Department of Mysteries."

* * *

**A/N:** No, I didn't get abducted by aliens. I'm very sorry for the wait. (I mean, it's only been a week, but I know the chapters are short.) Thing is I've finally run out of pre-written chapters and as I do have some rather daunting real life writing commitments, I may disappear from time to time. However I want to emphasize that this fic WILL NOT be abandoned. There are only about 4-5 chapters left and I know exactly where they're going, so don't worry, it will get done. Hopefully sooner rather than later, we'll see. Also, I really want to thank those of you who PM'd me to ask if I was okay. Your concern warms my heart-place, you guys are the best! And as always many thanks to everyone who reviewed: **Mrs-N-Uzumaki, Preciousblue, fallenhero57, twoTongues, likelurking, justy13, SavvyJackie, marana1, dmforever, LadyTwilight28, Witbeyond, Oliviab, NorbertaTheDragon, MattsMarshMello, HarleenQuinzel7654, anononymas, TheNewCompanion, kaname's harisen, IDanceToForget, JMLMonkey, Jadepowell, everlastingtrueromance, inkiedinkie80, Lupinara, Morena25, Singtoangels1, dark-phoenix17, Moriarsh, yourxenium, annaea3077, Colored Sabotage, morpheusandmuse, beachrosey, MakoHill, Artemisgodess, allasvitkona...** This chapter was probably the most citrus-y thing I'll ever write (and then, just because I really needed to get Draco to come to terms with some shit) so I hope you didn't find it too terrible but either way please let me know. Cheers!


	26. The Crypt

**XXVI – The Crypt**

"_Draco."_

"_Yeah?"_

"_Well—"_

"_I know..."_

* * *

Hermione felt a stab of... could it be disappointment? Was she really lamenting the closing of a journey that had brought her nothing but strife? Except—well, not _only_ strife. Not quite at all.

But whatever mad voice was professing reluctance was quelled the moment she thought of Harry and Ron. She could see them again. She could laugh and quarrel with them and have a Butterbeer and a bloody shower. She could get the madmen responsible for this whole ordeal arrested once and for all.

Could she kiss Draco whenever she liked?

He placed a hand on her shoulder and all at once it came back to her—

_Mudbloodmudblooodmudblood_.

She glared and shrugged him off.

"Hermione," he snapped. "You're being..." But it seemed he could not conjure into words exactly what it was that she was being, which gave Hermione the opportunity to rally her wits about her. The DA coin burned in her pocket, but she ignored it for the time being.

"What am I being, pray tell? A _Mudblood?_ A _buck-toothed, bushy-haired_ Mudblood? Don't stop now, you were doing so well."

"Don't."

"_Do not_ tell me what to do."

"What do you expect from me?" Draco asked, matching her anger, which she thought was thoroughly out of order. "That I'll never say _Mudblood_ again? Like I could just reprogram the way I talk after eighteen years? Are you being deliberately fucking dense?"

Hermione could think of nothing to say to this, so she looked all about her at their surroundings instead, her blood pounding.

"I recognize where we are," she said loftily. "This is the room where they used to keep all the time-turners. Your father and his friends tried to kill me and my friends over _that word_, right there, in that corner. And over there by the door. And out there in the corridor."

Draco's eyes flashed with frightening hatred. "Shut up."

"I never told anyone this, but he very nearly got his wish," she went on loudly, ignoring him. "The curse Dolohov used on me was a nasty one. If Dumbledore had gotten to me just five minutes later, I would have died."

"_Stop it._"

"He smiled, I remember. Dolohov. It hurt so badly that I couldn't help screaming and he smiled and—Well, what does it matter? It was just over a _word_. It doesn't _mean _anything."

"SHUT UP!"

His chest was heaving and the hatred in his eyes had intensified, but whether it was aimed at her or at himself or at everything in between, she could not tell.

"I'm not going to apologize for something I didn't even do," Draco yelled. "I wasn't even _there_—But hell, I'm not going to apologize at all, because if I had it all to do over again I'd do exactly the same thing. Every step of the way. I told you family means something to me, Hermione—"

"Am I supposed to accept that as justification for—"

"I don't give a fuck if you accept it or not, I'm just _telling you_ that I grew up a certain way—"

"Oh, please. Sirius Black grew up a certain way. Regulus Black grew up a certain way. They chose to—"

"I'm not Sirius fucking Black, for fuck's sake! I'm not my father and I'm not Sirius Black or Regulus Black or anyone else in the long list of martyrs I'm sure you could pull out of your arse. I'm not a bleeding heart hero like Potter. And if that's what you want, I wonder why you haven't been fucking _him_ all this time? Or maybe you _have_ been—"

Hermione saw red. This was nothing like her occasional fits of temper at school. All she knew was that she had never been so furious or so _hurt_ and an incantation flew to mind before she knew what she had done. Draco was forced back several steps as though a great invisible hand had shoved his chest with irresistible force. His eyes widened, and Hermione bit her lip. She should never even have _considered _using magic against someone in a simple argument. It was completely uncivilized.

Draco seemed to be of the same mind.

"Are you fucking serious?" he roared, drawing his wand.

_Enough,_ Hermione's mind told her. _Enough, you've taken this much too far already_. But the sight of Draco raising his wand against her made her insides feel as though they were imploding and turning themselves inside out at the same time. He _wouldn't_...

He cast a silencing charm at her half-heartedly. It missed by a wide margin, but the damage was done. Somewhere in her head, someone—certainly not Harry or Ron—was screeching at her to stop but Hermione sent a silencing charm right back. The swiftness with which Draco blocked her threw her off balance, and he took advantage of her distraction to attempt to disarm her.

She wondered if he realized that he was using Harry's favourite spell. The thought forced a bizarre cackle up her throat. She thought she might be going mad. A look of concern flickered across Draco's face but it was gone as soon as she sent an Impediment jinx at him.

"This isn't funny anymore," Draco growled, dodging the jinx at the very last moment.

"I don't remember it ever having been funny."

"_Petrificus Totalus_—Hermione, for fuck's sake—_Protego!_ Hermione—"

"_Impedimenta_—Do you see me laughing?"

Neither of them was actually aiming to harm the other. She had no idea what she was doing, or how long she could keep this up. But his next jinx struck a stone column which fractured into dust and rubble behind her, and coughing, Hermione lost sight of Draco for a moment.

"I'm never going to be your precious fucking Chosen One!" Draco yelled through the confusion. "It's never going to happen!"

Hermione made to launch herself at him—to curse or embrace him she really had no idea—and skidded on a patch of rubble. Flailing, she fell backwards and accidentally cast a disarming spell at the ceiling at the same moment as a spell of Draco's came soaring out of nowhere. The twin beams of light hit the ceiling in precisely the same spot and a deep rumble was heard. Fissures spread across the stone like spider veins. Hermione, still dazed, watched it happen as if in slow motion, knowing what was about to happen but unable to scramble out of the way in time as the world swam and spots burst behind her eyes.

"_Hermione!_"

Just as a massive block of stone detached itself from the ceiling, Draco came sprinting through the dust and threw himself on top of her, blocking them from the onslaught with a powerful shield charm.

_It's never going to happen!_ his voice echoed in her ears. But Hermione's heart beat a mile a minute as she thought in wonderment, _It already has happened_. It was only that he did not realize it yet.

_No shit_, he drawled in her head. She could practically hear the smirk. _Were you being deliberately fucking dense?_

* * *

A crisp sky heavy with falling dusk. The faint outline of a full moon peeking over the horizon.

"She's not answering on the coin. _Damn_. Why isn't she answering?"

"We'll worry about that later, when we're inside."

A tense breath. "The Minister should be here already."

"This isn't going to be any easier if we panic unnecessarily, Narcissa."

Hurried footsteps.

"I'm sorry I am late."

"Doesn't matter. Thank you, Kingsley. For being here."

A pointed glare. "Hmm."

"The coast is clear. Time to go."

The loud _crack_ of Apparition, thrice repeated.

"You will need to stand back, Ron, Harry, Madame Malfoy. My wand is the only one with the proper authorization to open the door to the Department."

A murmured spell. The creak of a door.

"We'll split up to cover more ground, shall we?"

"Yes. I can take the East quarter—these three doors here. Ron, you take the next three. Madame Malfoy, the West quarter on that side. Harry, you'll be the remaining—"

"And why must we separate? That does not seem the wisest strategy. If one of us is harmed..."

"There's no bloody time to argue about this!"

"How dare you—"

"All right, all right. Look, Ron, you go with Kingsley, I'll go with Mrs. Malfoy. We'll meet back in the middle. Is everyone okay with that?"

"Very well. Let's begin."

* * *

"Draco."

"Yeah?"

"I can't breathe."

He rolled his eyes.

"Are you turning into a sap now? Christ, you might have warned me."

"Oh—shut up. Your elbow is pressing into my stomach and I—can't—_breathe._"

"Ah." He chuckled and shifted swiftly, so that they were suddenly sitting upright. She sat astride his hips with her arms still clutching his shoulders. There was an inordinate amount of dust in their hair. The DA coin was still burning but Draco reached up to brush a smattering of dust from her cheek and her thoughts strayed far from answering whatever message was coming her way.

Then, abruptly, she groaned and clapped a hand to her mouth.

Draco frowned. "Er..."

"We've destroyed Ministry property! Merlin knows how much it's going to cost to repair all this damage!"

Draco managed to keep his face impassive for several moments and looked at her seriously.

"Well, if we're going to Azkaban, there's one thing I'd like to do first."

"What is it?"

He kissed her, slowly, leisurely, winding his fingers into her hair and tasting like dust and warmth and life, and Hermione wanted to laugh and melt into a puddle all at once. She removed her cloak to rid herself of the DA coin's insistent burning, and raised her arms to allow Draco to pull her blouse over her head.

Goosebumps broke over her skin as the cold underground air rushed in but Draco's hands swept up her sides, bringing a burst of warmth. He swore under his breath as she dug her fingers into his back, and his eyes grew feral. Then, as he ducked down to kiss her again, the fear she had been trying her best to repress, to ignore entirely, broke to the surface once more.

"Is.. Is this—_Aah, Draco_—Is this...?" Why couldn't she ask? Why couldn't she simply make the words cross her lips? She didn't _get_ tongue-tied.

But something in his eyes told her he understood. _Is this a goodbye?_

No, it could not be. She would not _let_ it be, not after everything that had happened.

And Draco kissed her twice as fiercely, burning away all her anxious half-formed questions until she could not think at all, until she did not want to think or do anything but kiss him and kiss him and kiss him...

There was a faint banging sound in the distance and Draco's lips froze an inch above her neck. Hermione frowned. Lifting his head, Draco met her eyes and pressed a finger to his lips. Nodding, she mouthed "_What was that?_"

The banging broke through the stillness again, much nearer this time. It sounded, in fact, as though it was coming from directly outside the room.

Hermione scrambled to her feet, shivering without her blouse, but it was too late to concern herself with that. Draco followed suit, and together, they raised their wands.

* * *

"Find anything?"

A loud banging sound.

"Ron, there you are!"

"Sorry Kingsley. Got a bit side-tracked. I had a score to settle with some brains..."

A confused frown. Green eyes flashing.

"Don't worry about it, Kingsley. Long story."

"Are you making any progress over there or merely talking amongst yourselves?"

A sigh. "No. We've been at this door for ten minutes already. It's the last one, we've checked everywhere else. This is where they used to keep the time-turners before we smashed them all, I think. But we can't get through."

"Break it down!"

"We're trying!"

"I think I am almost through. Once more..."

A blinding flash of red light. A rumble and a splintering noise. Dust settling and a wide opening in the stone wall.

"... Well, what the fuck?"

* * *

There was an ominous flash of light and renewed banging sounds, and Hermione, seized by a sudden impulse, bent down to pick the DA coin out of her cloak pocket.

"What are you doing?" Draco hissed under his breath.

"I think it might be Harry and Ron out there. We know they're looking for us. I have to check."

She winced a little as the coin blistered her skin. It must have been burning for longer than she had realized. Then she read the new message three times in rapid succession and blinked, her muscles seizing up.

"What?" Draco whispered impatiently.

Hermione could not form words. She turned the coin towards him instead to allow him to read for himself.

_Hermione. We've checked every inch of the Dept. of Mysteries. It is EMPTY. Where are you? Please write back right away. –HP_

"What the fuck?" Draco muttered.

A numbing fear was stealing through Hermione. Her eyes drifted up to the hole their spells had gouged in the ceiling. Instead of revealing a glimpse of the floor tiles from the level above, the opening was sealed with what, upon closer inspection, looked very much like packed earth.

"This isn't the Department of Mysteries at all," she breathed, realization crashing down around her. "It's a trick. We're still underground! This must be the last of the rooms in the labyrinth, the last test."

But Draco was not looking at the ceiling. His eyes were still fixed on the wall from which was issuing an almighty clatter.

"Well then," he said. "If that's not Potter trying to get through, who is it?"

* * *

**A/N:** Ehehe sorry for the fake-out, I couldn't really help myself. But come on, you didn't really think it would be that easy, did you? Also, the whole "Harry and Ron walking in on Draco and Hermione half undressed" thing is soooo overused I figured I couldn't get much out of that. Um. Please don't kill me. (Hides) Okay so as always all you beautiful reviewers, LET ME LOVE YOU! **JMLMonkey, dmforever, marana1, CharmedBooklett, Moriarsh, Jadepowell, lemonade8, Guest, TheNewCompanion, Mrs-N-Uzumaki, Beserked2, SavvyJackie, LimitedEternity, IDanceToForget, Witbeyond, Morena25, JayT, kaname's harisen, lauren enquist, buttercup, justy13, Iseult, jfang465, everlastingtrueromance, Guest, twoTongues, joeycarly, aaronlisa...** Does anyone else get really annoyed when Draco is characterized as not having had a choice in his past actions? It's like... um, everybody has a choice, that's kind of the whole point of everything Dumbledore says ever? It's far more important that he UNDERSTAND his mistakes than to pretend they didn't happen. Rant over. THREE MORE CHAPTERS GUYS aksjfh; ,skh! Shit, tumblr is such a horrendous influence on my keyboard capabilities. Over and out.


	27. The Circle Closing

**XXVII – The Circle Closing**

Hermione's scream was cut short as the wall was blasted apart. There was a flurry of footfalls and she was forced to the ground. Draco stepped in front of her, attempting to hide her stumbling form.

"Draco—don't!"

A violent pounding in her head blurred her vision. It was too late: there was a flash of red and Draco yelped in pain. Ashes and debris rained down from the sky. She ignored the taste of blood in her mouth, looking for him. She could hear his strangled gasps as he fought the unseen intruders. Where was he?

Her hands fumbled against the ground and met with something sickly warm. A pool of blood.

"Oh my God!" she croaked. What the hell had they done to him? She could feel spells flying through the clouds of dust overhead but she had eyes for no one but Draco. The spell they had hit him with had been an unusual sort. He was trembling, twitching, convulsing. And his pupils were glowing amber in the gloom.

"Get the hell away from me," he hissed, attempting to push her off him. But even as he withdrew, his nails dug into her skin, apparently against his will.

"Draco—"

An earth-shattering crash sounded overhead, followed by a growl. Two pairs of eyes turned upwards in identical horror as Hermione and Draco realized that their attacker was perched on the jagged stone ledge of the hole he had gouged through the wall.

And they recognized him.

"Oh my God!"

His yellow eyes were sharp and his claws were long. He towered above them, coiled to pounce. The ground trembled with his steps.

Hermione tugged at Draco's shoulder, trying to pull him upright. "You have to get up—"

"Run," he told her.

Leaping down from the wall, Damocles Chiswick let out an unearthly howl. His claws ground and screeched against the stone floor as he drew nearer and nearer, a terrible and inhuman intelligence with a thirst for blood.

Still spasming, Draco raised an arm feebly through the dust, clutching his wand. Hermione knew what he was planning to do before the words left his mouth.

"Don't you dare—"

She could never truly make him listen.

"_Repulso,_" he murmured, and she was thrown back, just barely avoiding Chiswick's charge. The back of her heel struck the bottom step of a narrow stairwell leading out of the time-turner room.

No, _no_, she was not leaving him. He was mad to think she would ever leave him.

So Hermione did something rather absurd, and summoned Draco with a flick of her wand. He came soaring through the air, giving her a look of profound disgruntlement, and she toppled back in her attempt to catch him. Hermione did not pause. She began to climb frantically, half running, half dragging his limp form in her arms.

But Chiswick's next cry drew her up short. It was a drawn-out wail of fear and pain and terrible loneliness.

"Help me!"

She glanced down through the darkness, her heart beating violently, and experienced a precipitous moment of doubt.

"_Please!_ Help me!"

Hermione's indecision was interrupted by a deep, rumbling hum rising from the floor. The walls trembled and the steps vibrated beneath her feet, and pieces of the ceiling began to fall.

The world was breaking apart again, like it had on the island. If Chiswick stayed behind he would die, like Terrence and Agatha and all the others.

Draco's heavy-lidded eyes fluttered open, and Hermione saw that he knew exactly what she was planning to do.

"Hermione! Fuck—_HERMIONE!_"

A chunk of ceiling detached itself just above her and she made her decision. Hermione leapt down the stairs, a heart-stopping, vertiginous dive into the void. With a wave of her wand and a bellowed incantation she came to an inch from the ground.

She heard a garbled oath from above.

Standing shakily and holding her ground, she asked, "What can I do?"

Chiswick's breath was warm and ravenous in her ear, making her skin crawl as he whispered a desperate string of pleas.

"The test subjects cannot be allowed to perpetuate. You must separate from the boy. You must not feed on the boy."

"_Feed_ on him?"

"You must claim a victim to complete the transformation. Otherwise..."

Hermione held her breath. She could hear Malfoy fumbling on the stairway. She could not rid her mind of the image of his eyes flashing in the gloom.

"Otherwise you will die." Chiswick's eyes bulged out of his head. "And die you must."

"Impossible."

Hermione was lost, disbelieving. She could not accept what he was saying. But a blinding flash of memory assaulted her: finding Draco bruised and thrashing in the river with a distinctive wound on his arm; his miraculous recovery; the enchanted sky always absent a moon... Something had been done to Draco.

Harry had spoken of experiments on the coin. Mutations.

"No. Impossible. No..."

Draco appeared at the foot of the stairs and looked at her piercingly with those unnatural eyes. There was knowledge in gaze. Perhaps he had known for a long time.

"It's me, isn't it?"

Panic roared in her ears, all-engulfing, giving way to frantic denial. The memories tore her insides to ribbons, memories of the feel of his hands burning into her skin, warm breath on the inside of her thigh. Something was happening to him, shifting his gait, pulling his skin taut against the muscles in his shoulder. Tears prickled the corners of Hermione's eyes.

She would not leave him.

"Go, Hermione," he said hoarsely. "Fucking _go_."

"No."

"It's happening," said Chiswick.

There was an abrupt change, an imperceptible shift that left a tingle in the air. Draco's pupils dilated.

"Stop!" Hermione screamed, counting back the days in her head. They had been trapped together not quite a month, which meant that the conspirators Harry had discovered—the First Wand and his accomplices, he'd called them—must have been planning this, plotting to infect Draco and trap him here with her when they got too close to the truth. That was why they'd hidden the moon: so no one would know when the change was coming. "Draco, you—you can fight this!"

Draco screamed. On her other side, Chiswick echoed the cry, wailing in terrible new-born hunger and pain.

Chiswick's eyes widened as he understood at last, much too late, that Hermione had never been the test subject. It had always been Draco. But it no longer mattered, because Chiswick was in the grips of insurmountable bloodlust. And Hermione was ready bait.

"Hermione..." Draco turned away from her, panting. "Can't stop..."

She made a futile attempt to raise her wand and stun Chiswick, but at the same moment Draco leapt forward, taking her by surprise, and Chiswick tore her wand from her grip. His teeth closed around her neck, drawing blood. The pain was exquisite, but even worse was the hateful, incongruent sympathy she could not help.

None of them had asked for this.

She felt a heavy blow strike her side, and a grunt of pain accompanying a fall.

Rivulets of blood dripped down her neck, soaking her blouse at the shoulder, spreading like a storm. _Hermione, you're one of them too now!_ a voice screamed in her head, a surreal blur of Harry and Ron and Draco and her own self. _Get out of there!_

But Chiswick was no longer biting her, and she heard two sets of battle cries preceding the clash of claws. Draco was fighting Chiswick off.

"Stop—Draco, please!"

She was thrown aside with a snarl and collided with Chiswick. Hermione wrested her wand from his grip, but with the two men throwing punches and revolving together she had no clear shot.

There was no escape. She had made her choice.

Hermione delved into the fray.

"Hermione, Her—_argh!_"

Draco's claws—_claws_—ripped into her side, drawing agony as they cut into flesh and tendons. And worst of all, his eyes darkened with twisted relish at her cry of pain. It was an unbridled ferocity that was not Draco but something else entirely.

He brought his hand up to his face covered in her blood, entranced. Chiswick bared his teeth.

"Draco, I forbid you to get yourself killed," Hermione whispered desperately. "Do you hear me?"

Draco shook. He moved his thumb an inch from his lips, drew a deep breath, and pulled it back. Hissing out a harsh sigh in an effort to control himself, he draped his body over hers, sheltering her from Chiswick. A protector straining not to attack.

And then the pain and the blood loss and the terror were too much, and her world spiraled into blackness as she collapsed against the ground.

* * *

Hermione rose slowly from unconsciousness to the metallic smell of blood and fear. Steely eyes watched her from the corner. Yellow eyes.

"What happened?" she asked, feeling her neck gingerly. She darted a glance to the glassy-eyed shape of Chiswick lying inert nearby. Blood was pooling sticky and cold across the stone floor.

"Did you—?" she aimed at Draco. She could not bring herself to finish speaking. She did not even know if he risked attacking her, still.

_Did you kill him?_

"Did I?" he drawled coldly, and she knew that he knew perfectly well what she was asking. "Hmm. Did I what, Hermione?"

"Did you... You—You know what I mean."

He looked fleetingly hurt, even betrayed, but he merely shrugged.

"I would have. Didn't get the chance."

A figure stirred in the shadows and emerged tall and lean, walking with a panther's prowl. The newcomer gave a pleasant nod.

"Mr Malfoy," said the man quietly. He had dark hair and something of a twist to his features that set Hermione's teeth on edge.

"You?" Draco breathed.

A litany of silent exchanges between all three parties, and suddenly Hermione understood.

Hermione drew her wand as Alan Pankhurst took a lithe step forward, and she took a correlating jump back.

"Me," he said.

There was a swelling silence. Hermione looked to Draco for reassurance or confirmation, and very slowly, he nodded. Smiling, Pankhurst extended his hand. Hermione's jaw clenched as Draco strode forward to shake it.

A wave of nausea swept her and she nearly collapsed. Blood was still pouring down her neck and her front. Her vision was doubling, trebling. Draco's face was the only thing in focus, alien and mutated and yet filled with stark determination.

"Draco!" she said in alarm. It was all she could muster.

"Stay awake, Hermione. Fuck!"

"We must get her out," Pankhurst piped up. Together he and Draco lifted Hermione and threw her arms over their shoulders, hoisting her back up the stairway. She called feebly for them to take Chiswick, too, but they ignored her. She could tell that Draco was still straining against his own instincts. Looking all around, Pankhurst added, "The only way is through—"

His sentence was drowned out as the wall at the top of the stairs, only a few feet ahead of them, was blown to pieces by a panoply of magnificent curses. Bright light illuminated stone walls, flooding piles of rubble with colour.

Draco's arms closed around her waist, lifting her up and away. Jets of green light streaked just above her head and there was panic and chaos everywhere.

A familiar cry rose above the din, one that turned Hermione's blood to ice. But the voices uttering it were new. She had only ever heard it from one man before...

"Eliminate the test subjects!"

Chaos reigned without bounds. Hermione heard her name, felt curses graze her. As she scrambled to clutch onto Draco she heard Pankhurst call out confidently, and shock rooted her to the spot.

"Here they are!" he said to the newcomers. "I've found them, here!"

Through her disbelief, Hermione understood. They had been sold out. They needed to run. And she could barely stand.

Draco's body pressed against hers, solid and warm, and she drew strength from his reassuring form.

"Over here, over here!" Pankhurst repeated as Hermione and Draco attempted to tumble back down the steps.

"Why?" she heard Draco growl, his voice contorted by fury. Or perhaps the transformation was doing something to his throat. He sounded barely human.

She tightened her hand around his, but Pankhurst did not answer. Together they raised their wands and began firing spells up the stairs to ward off their attackers, a group of men in dark cloaks with their faces hidden in shadow, moving as one.

"Get them," they chanted. "Get them!"

Wands battled fiercely, hissing and spitting magic, but they were outnumbered ten to one. Why wasn't Harry here, for Merlin's sake? Hermione could tell that they had only seconds before they were captured; Pankhurst had joined the opposing forces and was advancing on them inexorably.

An idea occurred to her, and almost at once she rejected it, but what else was there to do?

If she got it wrong...

Gritting her teeth and keeping herself conscious through sheer force of will, Hermione raised her wand above her head and cast Fiendfyre. An overwhelming blast of power shook the stairway and towering figures emerged, forming a deadly inferno. She counted to three in her head, only to three, knowing this would be enough. _One_... If she got it wrong, if she did not manage to get the spell under control—_Two_... A great fiery raven swooped at the cloaked men and Pankhurst, not quite consuming them but chasing them in the opposite direction—_Three_... She cast the counter-curse.

Stillness.

For a terrifying moment she was certain it had not worked. Then the flames vanished, and their assailants were gone, and she was left alone with Draco, who was breathing so raggedly he sounded as though he might be sobbing. She thought she might be crying herself. Their hands were locked so tightly together that her fingers were numb.

She wondered if he was reliving Crabbe's death.

"Don't—" She coughed and tried again, wanting to come out with it. _Don't let me go._"Draco."

"Yeah?" His voice did not sound like his voice.

"Well—" There were so many things to say. _What the hell just happened?_ or, _I hate what we've been to each other,_ or, _Don't ever let me go._

She said none of them.

"I know..." he told her quietly.

Hermione shook her head. "No, I mean you have to... you have to do what Chiswick did. Bite and—claim a victim. Otherwise you'll die."

He looked at her in genuine horror. "What?"

"Just do it," she snapped, worried she might lose her nerve. To emphasize her point she tilted her head back to expose her unwounded shoulder. "Just for a minute. If you lose it I'll stun you, don't worry."

They stared at one another, covered in ash and sweat and blood. Stared and stared and stared. A piece of the ceiling came crumbling down and Hermione blasted it aside with her wand, swaying on the spot.

"_Now,_ Draco!"

Relenting at last, he snarled as he bore down on her, teeth bared.

* * *

**A/N:** Hey, you guys, hey, grab a seat, I wanna tell you something! This is a thing where, somehow, I was voted Hawthorn & Vine's featured member for August! I am quite delighted and if any of you have time I'd be honored if you'd come check out my Q&A at the Livejournal (I'll put a link in my profile. Penname over there is ISolemnlySwear934). Oh and you guys have really been outdoing yourselves with the reviews! I blush. Thanks so much to: **Witbeyond, roseberrygirl, TheNewCompanion, dmforever, JMLMonkey, everlastingtrueromance, LC003, IDanceToFroget, Mrs-N-Uzumaki, Jadepowell, K-bird Lily 2, MattsMarshMello, SavvyJackie, shayida, Morena25, kaname's harisen, Moriarsh, anononymas, Lupinara, Aly, joeycarly, likelurking, marana1, Iseult, justy13, lauren enquist, Jaycherie, Guest, Princess of Mirkwood2, Guest, Mel966, Gullb3rg...** I know this chapter ended on a bit of a Twilight-y note but I fervently promise that's not where I'm trying to take things. Also, since you've been seeing snippets of it since the beginning I apologize if it was somewhat of a bore. But there are only two left REVELATIONS ARE AFOOT I SWEAR TO GOSH. Cheers, beautiful people!


	28. Ascent

**XXVIII – Ascent**

Draco's arms encircled her waist and his mouth latched onto the crook of her neck. He groaned and pulled her in tight.

It was anything but romantic. The pain was sharp and blinding as he tore into her skin. Hermione bit down on her tongue to keep herself from screaming and shut her eyes tight. She could hear the walls crumbling around them and feel the ground shift and slide under her feet. They had to get to the last door soon or they would be buried alive.

"Draco," she said, tapping him on the shoulder.

The sound of her voice seemed to have the opposite effect she had intended, and he gripped her tighter, bucking against her and tearing into her flesh in earnest. She had known worse pain, much worse, but she still did not appreciate it.

"Draco. _Enough!_"

Dust choked her and her blood pumped sluggishly through her veins, a disorienting drumbeat she refused to give in to. She attempted to shove Draco forcefully away from her but her efforts did not even seem to register. Even his grip on her waist was beginning to hurt, and she let out an involuntary yelp.

She really thought, for a moment, that she would have to hex him. Her wand was raised and the incantation half-formed on her lips when he stumbled back at last with a desperate growl that seemed to claw its way up from the pit of his stomach.

"_Fuck_, you're fucking _perfect_," he said disjointedly, licking her blood off his lips. Hermione's stomach rolled.

_Mudbloodmudbloodmudblood—_

Cracks were inching their way up the walls.

Chiswick. Now that everything else was taken care of, she could get Chiswick while there was still time.

"Don't even think about it," Draco snarled, a knowing glimmer in his eye. With a flick of his wand he healed the mess he had made of her shoulder and made to tug her up the stairs.

"No! I just let you _attack me_, and now we're going to do things _my_ way!" Hermione retorted, darting out of his reach. For the second time that day she doubled back to look for Chiswick, tearing through the clouds of dust and rubble and squinting for fallen figures through the chaos.

Because without Chiswick she would have never know how to complete the transformation. And Draco would have died.

She found him unconscious at the foot of the stairs and Hermione levitated him at shoulder height without preamble.

"It's no wonder he went mad," Draco remarked, catching up to her. "They put Muggles in here to be hunted... He probably tore a few of them to fucking pieces."

Hermione thought he was probably right. Chiswick had been in the labyrinth longer than they had; nearly two months. After he had exhausted the power in the lamp he had stolen from the Malfoy family vaults, used to suppress his transformation, he must have been unable to stop himself from attacking the first prey he found. The idea made her feel faintly sick.

"We don't know he killed anyone," she said. "_You_ didn't, just now."

"You have no idea how fucking close I was..."

"What stopped you?"

He did not answer, but took her hand and pulled her up the stairs, Chiswick bobbing along behind them. They wove through falling blocks of earth and stone until they reached the doorway at the summit of the stairs, through which Pankhurst and the cloaked men had disappeared.

For once Hermione was relieved when the familiar headache hit. She felt as though a cavalry were charging through her head, shooting darts of pain into her skull each time their horses' hooves kicked and pounded at the insides of her mind. And then, in a day already saturated with unexpected turns, she tore through the door and received the shock of her life.

"Agatha!" she exclaimed. "Terrence! You—you're—"

Hermione swayed on the spot as the small community Muggles she had thought long dead turned to face her. It was only then that she saw the five figures standing at the center of the group. They were the most oddly matched company she had set eyes on in a very long time.

Narcissa Malfoy and Kingsley Shacklebolt were attempting to restore order to the clamoring throng of Muggles, to little effect. Ron and Harry were standing side by side with their wands pointed at a kneeling Alan Pankhurst. The latter was uttering strangled pleas so rapidly that his voice had turned into a steady hiss of you-don't-understand's and not-my-fault's.

Narcissa was the first to whip around and see what had caught the Muggles' attention. Her gasp of joy, the relief that came into her eyes as she spotted Draco, left Hermione breathless. Then Terrence was gaping at her and Ron and Harry were shouting her name and rushing forward while Pankhurst sat forgotten, to be trampled by the crowd of confused Muggles. And Hermione, who had lost an inordinate amount of blood and exerted herself beyond the bounds of reason, finally reached the end of her tether.

Before she could do more than register that they were safe and sound, at long last, she fainted and collapsed into Harry's arms.

* * *

There was a tapping, a persistent staccato that would not cease. Somewhere in the distance, _tap tap tap,_ then silence, then again, _tap tap tap._

It was Ron. Ron was tapping his wand against that blasted Wizarding Wireless, and she was going to wake up in the tent to cold and hunger and the gauntness in Harry's face and—

"Finally."

The cool drawl that roused her to consciousness was _not_ Harry's or Ron's. The bare oak walls of the small bedroom she found herself in were _not_ the walls of the tent. Hermione blinked as the world came into focus, and saw Draco standing at her side with a goblet of some steaming yellow potion. His eyes were back to normal, his claws were gone, and he looked generally, reassuringly mundane.

"Where...?" She could not even begin to fathom her every question into a single sentence. Where were Harry and Ron? Kingsley and Narcissa and Chiswick and the others? Where was she? Surely they could not still be inside the Department of Mysteries?

"Inn above the Raven's Head pub," Draco announced, pressing the goblet on her impatiently. "I have a room booked year round. Used to come here to get away from... Well, and your precious Chiswick survived, in case you were wondering."

Hermione took a sip from the goblet. It was some sort of restorative draught, and its warmth spread immediately from her fingers to her toes so that she felt marginally more coherent.

"What happened?"

Draco took a seat on the edge of her bed and gazed at the wall. "What happened is I stuck my neck out for someone in the middle of a fucking war and they turned out to be a worthless bloody rat."

"Pankhurst?"

"I killed his father so he could live. His father was old, like I said. He was dying already. He asked me to do it. But as it turns out Pankhurst had an insane fucking Gryffindor complex. He would rather I'd have killed him so his father could live another miserable fortnight. So he waited, and he pretended to sign on to help my mother. And as soon as he got the chance he fucking betrayed her and fell in with the First Wand to get revenge on me. Tipping the other side off to what Potter was up to. Rounding up Muggles. Incidentally," he added, his voice positively dripping with bitterness, "you were wrong."

Some deeply rooted instinct stirred inside Hermione, and she took immediate offense. Draco seemed to sense her outrage.

"About the Latin phrase above the entrance to the cave, in the swamp," he specified. "'_Timorem habeant incantatorum, sapias obnoxiam averte._' It really meant that the wise had no reason to fear because they would know not to go inside. The caves were a sort of... _corral_ for Muggles who got captured and let loose in that underground compound. The water in there was meant to Obliviate them _en masse_ so they'd think they'd been shipwrecked. It's an odd sort of potion. We reacted differently to it since we're magic. Anyway, there was another door further down the swamp that would have taken us directly to the mountains. "

He did not look quite as disgusted by this treatment of Muggles as Hermione felt the situation warranted, but she was far too curious now to stop him.

"So that whole place was—"

"A training ground. Set up to test the strength and abilities of these creatures the First Wand was having developed, supposedly to be used as weapons against the Dark Lord if he ever rose again. The swords you found in the snow and all that—meant to start a fight to the death, so the strongest would come out victorious. The Ministry was renting out the Department of Mysteries for these sorts of experiments before the war to scrape funds on the side. Shacklebolt didn't even know about it. But it became obvious this particular stunt was a step too far, so they tried to cover their tracks. That's why the island with all the Muggles started to fall to pieces. They were trying to destroy the evidence. The whole compound is gone now."

"How do you know all this?" Hermione breathed.

Draco looked, if possible, even more bitter than before.

"Potter worked it all out, of course. It's all over the fucking papers. A new row of cells filled in Azkaban and another bloody medal for the Chosen One."

"Where are Harry and Ron now?"

"Probably out looking for you."

"Er... what?"

Draco shrugged. "I snatched you away and Disapparated us here in the confusion. They didn't have time to follow."

Hermione sat bolt upright and glared at him, suddenly filled with anxiety.

"They're probably worried sick!" she cried. "Why would you do that?"

"Because I thought you'd be hacked off if I'd gone off without a word when you woke up."

"Well, I—But then why didn't you just stick around and wait until I woke up?"

"Too many fucking reporters waiting outside the Ministry. I thought you might come to and we'd have to answer a million and one questions."

Questions... Hermione studied him, indignation warring with affection as she observed the cauldron set over the fire on the wall opposite. He had brewed the potion in her goblet himself. He had watched over her while she recovered, apparently at the cost of hiding out here away from everyone, including his family. Yet they were back in the real world, and it was fairly evident that he had wanted at all costs to avoid facing the change between them in front of reporters. And especially in front of his mother.

_Give it a rest,_ her own voice piped up in her head, and she started in surprise. But in fact, the voice did have a point. She was not at all sure that she would have wanted to spring the news on Harry and Ron without warning, either.

"Where are my robes?" she asked abruptly, looking all around the room and taking in the small stack of _Daily Prophets_ by the window that accounted for the tapping she had heard earlier. An owl must have been delivering them morning, noon, and night. How long had she been unconscious?

"You slept almost eighteen hours," Draco filled in, tossing her robes at her. Hermione reached into the pockets and produced her DA coin, which was burning yet again.

_Am fine. Safe. Will find you soon. –HG_

She sent the message off in answer to Ron's eleven increasingly hysterical communiqués, feeling a strange weightlessness settling in. It occurred to her that for the first time in ages—for the first time in her entire life, in fact—she was entirely free. She was not in school, and she was certainly not expected at work after such a long absence. There were no Horcruxes to search for. She was not trapped in a secret underground compound. And no one, save for Draco, even knew where she was. She could do anything she liked, anything at all.

She sprang out of bed without warning and pulled Draco into a kiss, clutching at his collar. _They were alive_. She wanted to laugh, to hold him as tightly as humanly possible, to kiss him until they forgot their own names. To her surprise and considerable irritation, however, he pulled back after a moment and looked at her seriously.

"You _have_ realized, haven't you?" he asked.

And just like that, her shining vision of freedom burst like an ephemeral soap bubble, and she found herself nodding.

"The First Wand had me injected with that hybrid venom before we got trapped underground, so I'd transform and go mad like Chiswick," Draco went on relentlessly. "I bit you. It's going to happen to you as well."

The self-reproach in his voice made her heart ache. Did he think she regretted it? The small stab of fear she felt at her impending transformation barely even registered in her mind. What concerned her most of all was the inevitability that she would have to infect someone else.

"It's done," she told him.

He looked ill at ease, but after a moment his eyes caught on something and he stared at her shoulder, frowning.

"I cocked up the healing spell," he said, tracing a pronounced scar that ran up her collarbone to her shoulder and over the base of her throat.

"No. Werewolf bites can't be fully healed by magic. I wouldn't have such a massive scar if you'd stopped when I told you to," she added lightly, her tone teasing. Something flashed in his eyes.

"Oh?" he drawled quietly, brushing his thumb over the ridged skin. A moment later his lips replaced his thumb, and she closed her eyes. "You really don't like it when I do this?" He nipped gently at her neck. "Or this?" He sucked on the spot just above her collarbone.

"You know perfectly well that—_Ah_—" Hermione caught her breath as he kissed behind her ear. "You know perfectly well I meant—_Draco_... I meant... ah—"

She never did finish her sentence.

* * *

They walked out onto Diagon Alley together at sundown, intending to get a cup of coffee in some secluded place before undertaking the rather daunting task of locating their respective friends and families. Every headline flashed identically at them as they passed newspaper stands.

_WHERE ARE HERMIONE GRANGER AND DRACO MALFOY? _

"Hang on!" cried Hermione suddenly, stopping short before a banner hung over the front awning of Quality Quidditch Supplies.

"What is it?" Draco asked, ducking immediately behind a newsstand.

"No one we know," said Hermione angrily. "Are you going to keep doing that? For heaven's sake—"

"Like you weren't jumping out of your skin a minute ago when you thought you'd spotted Weasley—"

"Don't," Hermione snapped, more harshly than she had intended. She had, in fact, though she had spotted _Fred_ Weasley while walking past Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes. It had taken her several seconds to remember this could not possibly be so, and that she was only looking at a remarkably lifelike cardboard cutout.

Being back in the real world made her jumpy. It had been worse after the war, when she had emerged from eight months in seclusion with Harry and Ron to find herself uncontrollably paranoid. But she could feel it creeping up on her again.

Mastering herself, she gestured to the banner on the awning and said, "Look at that."

Draco stepped out from behind the newsstand and gaped at the banner, an incredulous smirk spreading across his face.

"Is this a joke?"

Hermione shook her head. "This—This must be what he did to get Rita Skeeter on his side. So she'd help him look for me. I can't _believe_ her."

They hurried around a corner of the Alley and came to stand in front of Flourish & Blott's, where a lengthy queue had formed. Enormous signposts had been erected outside the shop, flashing the triumphant announcement in acid green.

DON'T MISS THE RELEASE OF THE EXCLUSIVE BIOGRAPHY: HARRY POTTER, THE BOY WHO LIED? BY #1 DAILY PROPHET BESTSELLING AUTHOR RITA SKEETER.

Hermione thought she recognized several faces in the queue. There was Romilda Vane, and a little further down, Gabrielle Delacour. And there was Dedalus Diggle. Good heavens, she could not imagine how Harry must be feeling.

Then she turned to look inside the bookshop, and she saw, through the window, a sea of excitable witches and wizards all clamoring around a podium behind which stood a very rigid, uncomfortable looking Harry. Rita Skeeter preened and smirked at his side, waving at flashing cameras. Ginny and Ron stood a little to the side, the former telling off a reporter who had shoved a camera in her face and the latter talking to what looked like Katie Bell of Harry's old Quidditch team. She was laughing and touching his arm.

They had not seen Hermione. She stood transfixed, and watched as someone in the front row threw a suspiciously small, lacy scrap of fabric up onto the podium. Harry's eyes bulged out of his head and Rita put a hand on his shoulder like a claw. Ginny wasted no time in hexing the entirety of the front row, so that the shop was thrown into pandemonium as giant bogies flapped around by the dozen.

Hermione turned to Draco.

"We've missed a lot," she remarked.

"No shit." He smiled. She would never stop marveling at the difference a true smile made to his face.

Someone in the shop had been hoisted into the air by their ankle. She would go and help soon, Hermione thought, but for now she was content merely to stand by Draco's side for a moment and breathe the free air.

* * *

**A/N:** Oh hey don't mind me I'm just updating this fic when I should be reading approximately pages 29384763840983 of Shakespeare. Many thanks to: **LillianLockahrt, krook** (yo, you changed your penname! It's cool. I like it), **LimitedEternity, Jadepowell, Beserked2, dmforever, kaname's harisen, TheNewCompanion, Mrs-N-Uzumaki, SavvyJackie, beachrosey, JMLMonkey, Calimocho, Ellae, roseberrygirl, Witbeyond, everlastingtrueromance, twoTongues, anononymas, Moriarsh, Athena92, GottaGetBackUp, Colored Sabotage, dark-phoenix17, Princess of Mirkwood2, justy13, Yavanna and SunStar, Bubbles of Colours, meganutz...** How do you guys feel about all getting matching tattoos? Yes? Yes.


	29. The Gathering

**XXIX – The Gathering**

"_Scorpius?"_

"_That's what I said."_

"_No. No. Absolutely not!"_

"_It's a perfectly good name."_

_"... SCORPIUS?"_

* * *

_COVERT WIZARDING GROUP COMES FORWARD, CLAIMS ACTIONS "FOR THE GOOD OF ALL."_

_... In a bizarre series of events many are calling reminiscent of war times, a ring of influential witches and wizards was last week apprehended by none other than Harry James Potter, Order of Merlin, First Class. The group, led by a man styling himself the "First Wand" and going by the title of "Faceless Ones," has revealed its involvement in a series of underground experiments in blatant disregard of the International Confederation of Wizards for the past five centuries and more. They have been sentenced, along with accomplices Alan Pankhurst and Carlisle Belby, to undisclosed sentences in Azkaban._

"_We have always been here," the First Wand told reporters exclusively this morning before he was whisked away by Aurors. "And we will remain as ever. The time will come when the wizarding community will have need of us."_

_Meanwhile, experimental victims Hermione Granger (Order of Merlin, First Class) and Draco Malfoy continue to refuse comment, though Granger is know to have visited fellow victims Damocles Chiswick and Terrence White in Saint Mungo's._

_For more on Chiswick's heroic rescue of a community of Muggles, turn to pages 3 and 9..._

* * *

Hermione, Ron, Harry, and Ginny visited Remus Lupin's grave on the day the First Wand was sent to Azkaban. In the small Welsh cemetery where their ex Professor had been buried alongside Tonks and his family, they conjured a set of goblets and raised a silent toast to the man who had taught them much, and died bravely. Harry stood a little apart, bouncing Teddy Lupin on his knee and speaking to him quietly. The little boy's hair had turned a sober brown for the occasion.

Hermione's eyes were fixed on the assortment of bouquets and wreaths laid atop the grave as she traced the scar on her neck absent-mindedly. She felt an arm settle around her shoulders and turned to see Ron draining the last of his drink and looking at her seriously.

"I wish he were here," she said. Lupin could have helped her, counseled her through the anxiety that was closing in relentlessly.

She had fallen ill, feverish and delirious just like Draco when she had found him in the river, and the Weasleys had taken her to Saint Mungo's, where her parents had been allowed a one-time-only admittance. She wished she could have spared them the grief.

She had recovered, of course, much to the Healers' surprise. They had been unable to identify what was the matter with her. But Hermione knew: the madness that had gripped Draco and Chiswick was coming for her and would manifest itself upon the next full moon.

Ron gave her shoulder a squeeze, and she sighed contentedly. Their reunion had been stilted, and in many ways heart-wrenching, but ultimately an enormous weight had been lifted from her shoulders. When Draco had left, and Hermione had rushed into the bookshop where Ginny was throwing hexes left and right, he had spotted her and swept her up into a bone-crushing hug, kissing her unexpectedly. Hermione had been too shocked to react, and at last he had pulled away, looking rather as bewildered as she was.

"Er..." she had begun awkwardly, looking for the kindest way to tell him they could not be together in that way. But he had run a hand ruefully through his hair, nodding.

"I know, I know, sorry. I just—We didn't know if we'd ever see you again..."

He had stepped back to pat her on the head, cringing. Hermione had not been able to help a chuckle.

At present Ron said, "You'll be all right. We're always all right, aren't we?"

"Yes," Hermione agreed, conjuring a wreath of bluebells and levitating them onto Lupin's grave. "I suppose we are."

* * *

"Well?" said Ginny pointedly.

Hermione looked up, confused. They were in the Three Broomsticks enjoying a much needed night out, and Harry and Ron had gone to fetch drinks. Ginny was staring at her as though trying to decipher a foreign language scrawled across her forehead.

"What?"

"You know what. What about you and Malfoy?"

Hermione nearly choked on her own tongue.

"What—How did you know?" she asked. She saw no reason to deny it; she had done nothing wrong.

Ginny snorted. "I'm not Ron. And I'm not blind... I don't mean to belittle what you went through, Hermione, but _Malfoy?_"

Hermione's hands twisted together in her lap and she waited for the judgment to fall. She wondered if Ginny was thinking of Fred.

"Your business," Ginny said at last with a small shrug, and Hermione felt an overwhelming swoop of gratitude. "Must have been one hell of a month."

They looked at one another, understanding passing silently between them.

"But then," Ginny went on, and Hermione knew, somehow, what she was going to say, "the question is, where is he now?"

Hermione stared down at her hands. She had no answer.

* * *

Hermione swished her wand to unlock the door to her new flat and heaved a weary sigh. She had been held up at the Ministry for nearly three hours after her usual time, desperate to prove herself now that she had been given her old position back.

A sound like a canon blast greeted her when she opened her door and she screamed, thinking momentarily of Death Eaters and Snatchers and Bellatrix Lestrange's mad laughter, but then dozens of friendly faces popped out from behind furniture and she saw a banner hung over her mantelpiece that read "HAPPY BIRTHDAE HERMIONE!"

Hagrid sat in the extremely cramped alcove off the kitchen, waving at her. She smiled: they must have let him do the spelling.

"What's all this?" she asked breathlessly, looking around at Neville and Luna and George and Andromeda Tonks and Winky and Katie Bell and a whole host of others who were wearing party hats and holding pieces of cake.

"We missed your birthday," said a voice to her left, and Harry appeared at her side, "seeing as you were trapped in a secret underground compound, and all."

Hermione's laughter died on her lips as she took in Harry's appearance. He was sporting a shining black eye and there were mottled purple bruises across his knuckles. He was grinning from ear to ear.

"What happened?" she squeaked.

"Nothing to worry about. You should see the other bloke."

"Harry—"

"It's fine, Hermione. I just thought—Well, I was wrong. And I didn't have time to heal this mess up before I came here."

"Have some cake!" Ron added, popping up on her other side and shoving an oversized piece of chocolate cake at her. Hermione recognized the succulent smell of Mrs Weasley's cooking and her stomach rumbled.

The cake, it transpired, was laced with brandy. By the time Hermione came to this realization, she was feeling too pleasantly warm and relaxed to reprove Harry and Ron much for their trick. When the clock struck ten the guests broke into a rousing chorus of "_Weasley is our King_," and Hermione found herself joining in with gusto. When the last lines died out, however, she sat down abruptly, feeling strangely hollow.

_Forgot who wrote that song, did you?_ Draco drawled in her head.

Damn him. Hermione was tired of reliving their last encounter, tired of wishing he were there when she ought to have simply put his stupid, stubborn face out of her mind. Tired, tired, tired.

He had stuck by her when she had fallen ill. He had been concerned, sullen, attentive, but always in secret. He had brought her books with information on werewolf hybrids, and he had run away any time someone they knew was in the vicinity. Finally, after having watched him Disapparate from her hospital room in a panic for the fifth time, she had gotten herself discharged and stalked into his room at the Raven's Head in high dudgeon.

"What do you think you're doing?" he had snapped, ushering her in and closing the door quickly behind her. "Someone could see you coming in. Just use the Floo—"

"Oh for heaven's sake!" she had burst out. "It's been over a week, Draco! How long do you plan to keep this up, exactly?"

"What are you talking about?"

"This childish charade. The late night meetings and the running away every time you see someone you know. It's a little ridiculous."

He had stared at her incredulously. "Well, what other alternative is there?"

It was then that Hermione had known something was very much askew. They had been at cross-purposes without realizing it.

"Are you seriously telling me you planned on continuing this indefinitely?" She had hated the tremor in her voice, but she had been unable to fight it down.

"What the hell did you think was going to happen?" Draco had asked in a tone that suggested he thought she was being utterly absurd. "That we were going to parade around in public? Did you think we'd—we'd end up fucking _married _or something? Fuck's sake, I'm a Malfoy!"

It was as though a swarm of bees had been unleashed inside her head. She had not heard what he'd said next. Her brain had disconnected from her senses. All she'd been able to hear was a loud, ominous buzzing that filled her with numbing cold.

She had lifted her chin high into the air and said, in a remarkably even voice, "Of course. How could I forget?"

She had darted towards the door but he had spun her around to kiss her.

_Don't stop—_

"_No._" She had torn away from him violently. "Don't you even... No."

She had bolted before he could utter a furious protest. That evening she had visited her parents for the first time in months, and before she knew what she was doing she had laid her head on her mother's shoulder and cried an ocean of tears until she felt drained and empty.

Draco had sent her no fewer than twenty-seven owls in the days intervening. She had tossed each and every letter aside unopened.

"_Oi, someone get the door?_"

The cry from the sitting room roused Hermione from her gloomy reflections, and she emerged from the tiny kitchen to find a sea of startled faces looking between her and the door. There in the doorway, glaring at a dumbstruck Ron whose hand had slackened on the doorknob, was Draco. A spectacular bruise was blooming across his left cheekbone and a trickle of dried blood ran from the corner of his mouth.

Their eyes met, and for a moment everyone else in the room vanished.

"Now's not a good time, Malfoy," said Harry in clipped tones. "We're having her birthday celebration."

Why were they talking about her in a way that escaped her understanding?

"D'you really want to try arguing with me twice in one day, Potter?" Draco flexed his hand. His knuckles, like Harry's, looked much the worse for wear.

"What is this?" Hermione asked, cutting across Harry's retort.

Draco pulled a large purple box out from under his robes and held it out to her.

"I brought you a birthday gift. I could have arranged to bring it to you at a better time if you'd ever returned any of my letters."

She refused to take the bait. "What is this, Draco?"

"Are you going to make me fucking say it?" he asked irritably. "This is a capitulation."

"What kind of game are you playing? Are you saying I've beaten you into submission? What a lovely sentiment."

"Is anyone going to explain what the hell is going on?" Ron asked loudly.

"_Shh,_" Ginny hissed at him.

"You always did like to make things more difficult than they fucking need to be," Draco muttered.

"I think you should leave," Hermione replied. She wanted him to stay. It took every scrap of willpower she possessed not to slam the door shut with magic and throw her arms around him, onlookers be damned. But she was resolute. She _was_.

Draco strode forward instead, pressing the box on her.

"At least open your damn present," he insisted. "It's your favorite thing."

"I think you should open it, Hermione," said Harry unexpectedly.

Hermione caught a look that was two parts animosity, one part understanding passing between Harry and Draco, and felt thrown off balance.

"I—" With an exasperated sigh, she took the box and pulled at the crisp silver ribbon. When she pried open the lid she found that the box contained...

"A rock." Hermione felt something constrict her throat. To her horror, she thought she might succumb to a fit of irrational giggling at any moment.

"It was all I could afford, seeing as I've been cut off," Draco told her, a strange lightness lurking just beneath his usual drawl. The entirety of Hermione's assembled guests had fallen into a preternatural silence and were watching them with rapt attention.

"Cut off?"

"Disowned. Disavowed."

Hermione glanced at Harry, who gave her a very level look. Harry had known about this, she realized. Draco must have contacted him when she had failed to return his owls.

"You mean...?"

Draco nodded. "Not that it'll last long. My mother will talk my father down in a few weeks. They'll get over themselves." As ever, he anticipated her next question before she could ask it. "They more or less worked it out for themselves around the time I sent you that seventeenth owl."

"Hmph," Hermione sniffed. "I'm not going to say I'm sorry, if that's what you're thinking."

"Of course not. But if you had read any of the letters, you would know that I tracked down Zephyr Cadwallader."

"The inventor of the Vanishing Cabinet?" asked Hermione uncomprehendingly.

"Among other things. He also invented the lamp Chiswick stole from the Malfoy family vaults. When my gold _is_ restored, he's more than happy to start providing a lifetime supply of the oil used in the lamp."

"We... wouldn't have to transform," Hermione breathed.

Draco smirked. "You're welcome."

"I can't believe I didn't think of it."

"No, I meant you're welcome for the rock. Fond of rocks, aren't you? If I recall correctly..."

On impulse Hermione seized the rock and, rolling her eyes, raised it mockingly as though she meant to thwack him over the head with it.

He caught her wrist swiftly. She dropped the rock. Then he pulled her into a heart-stopping kiss in full view of the whole room. There was no need to speak, no need to explain that he had finally gotten his head on straight. She had never been kissed like that in her entire life.

There was a ripple of shocked murmurs around the room. They broke apart.

"Am I invited to your party?" Draco asked, a definite smirk in his voice.

Hermione smiled.

"Yes."

* * *

**A/N:** Surprise! I figured I made you guys wait hella long for those last few chapters so I'd be nice and update early. Oh and sorry about the cutout-future-scene at the beginning. I couldn't really resist. This story is finished now. Hope you've enjoyed it. I've had a fantastic time reading all your stupendous reviews and I thank you most profusely for sticking with me to the end. My next fic is going to be a non-magic Tomione AU, I think. Working title "Nightingale," so keep an eye out if you're interested in those sort of shenanigans. Should be buckets of fun (ugh, who says that? Yeesh.)... All the best to you, beautiful people: **lizziestrong7135, Singtoangels1, Bubbles of Colours, Princess of Mirkwood2, krook, Moriarsh, Moriarsh, dmforever, likelurking, kvance, Beserked2, Mrs-N-Uzumaki, Witbeyond, fruityloopy, TheNewCompanion, IPreferJasper, JMLMonkey, Calimocho, BookSweetHeart, SavvyJackie...** Cheers!


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